Loose Lips in the Tavern
by nickdaman6
Summary: Ah, so you wish to hear another tale? The one before did not satisfy you? Of course not, you are an inquisitive one, after all. Well, there are more tales to tell about the Octopath Travelers, before their journey ended, before they defeated the darkness that plagued Orsterra. An adventure? Not as much as one would think, but a tale of their bonds. It all starts in a cold tavern...
1. Tale One

**Tale One, Ophilia**

* * *

"Thank you."

"Of course, Lady Ophilia. Anything for one of the daughters of the Archbishop."

The barkeep held his tray in front of him, bowing shortly before leaving the sister to her sequestered corner. Though hidden, the booth was still warmed by the fire lit inside the tavern. Rarely did the young sister visit such an establishment, for drinks or otherwise. But, having willingly taken on the title of Flamebearer – and the subsequent duties that came with it – as well as the imminent death of her sole parental figure, Ophilia needed a moment to collect herself. It just so happened that some mulled wine, and possibly pleasant conversation, would help to subside her woes.

If she needed more reasons, then wasn't chasing off the cold winter's wind that was blowing outside enough? Or that she couldn't face her adoptive sister, Lianna, as she watched over their father? She had to escape somewhere to wait out the storm before her journey.

Wasn't that enough? Just a moment to sneak away and unshoulder her heavy burdens without the worry of her sister or father hanging over her?

Wasn't that enough?

Not wanting to think on the topic anymore, and sniffing her unshed tears away, Ophilia took a comforting sip of the hot beverage. The wine immediately helped to calm her thoughts, warming her spirit, readying her for the journey ahead.

She giggled before taking another sip. "Hm, tingly."

Though indulged by the clergymen and women of the Order of the Flame only every now and then, spirits such as this wine, when enjoyed diligently, were boons to help those weary few who had shouldered too much or felt to little. To the Order of the Flame, these drinks helped to – so to speak – reignite the fire of their spirits to once again dedicate themselves to Aelfric, Flamebringer.

In Ophilia, with each sip, she felt her diligence surrounding her like a shield once again. Yet, thoughts continued to plague her, breaking it down bit by bit. Her main concern was that she was alone. Of course, she had a Knight Ardante accompanying her (who was currently buying supplies), but only to the Flatlands. From there, she would truly be on her own. A part of her welcomed the challenge and readied her kindness to help those in need whilst on her journey. But another part of her yearned for a more permanent traveling companion. After all, on the road, life by oneself could become too lonesome to bear. Ophilia knew this well.

She sighed, dancing her finger along the rim of her half-full glass, thinking what lay ahead of her. With her melancholic mind continuously battling against such thoughts, she felt herself slipping deeper and deeper into the pit she had dug herself.

Time for another sip.

With it came a small flicker of courage, desperately trying to light Ophilia's dimmed soul. It caught, but only the young cleric could fuel, or dampen, her strong, kind demeanor.

Her finger switched from the glass to twirling a strand of her long blonde hair. Something she did often whenever in thought.

"Everything is falling apart," she muttered sullenly. "And yet… I am tasked to carry this flame, just as His Excellency twenty years ago. My heart wishes me to stay, to help Lianna. But…"

There it was. Her eyes widened as she came to her discovery.

Thinking back to her many conversations at the Church, she remembered what they had said about her:

 _You are so kind, Ophilia._

 _Some days, I lack strength, but, my dear, when you are around, kindness wins over and I regain my energy._

 _Phili, you wish only to share everybody's burdens, to care for everyone. Thank you…_

"…but I am doing this for everyone's sake. If I did not, then would I be able to face them? Would I be able to face His Excellency and my sister?"

But, the most important question was:

"Would I be able to face myself?"

Ophilia lamented on these thoughts for a long while, sipping her drink as she did so.

Of course, she knew the answer already: no. However, she continued mulling over the questions. Even as she did so, her confidence continued to rise, along with her assurance that she was doing the right thing. That alone filled her with more strength than she ever knew. Now, her goal was clear, her reasons equally so, but there was one more problem to tackle before she could depart Flamesgrace:

Would she be able to complete her journey alone?

Just then, a gust of wind blew through the tavern as the door to the establishment burst open.

Everyone's eyes turned to the man who would create such a ruckus. Even if this was a tavern, this was also Flamesgrace, where those drinking still held themselves with the propriety expected of them in such a holy town.

Yet this burly man cared not, walking in heftily with thick, leather boots towards the bar. A coat decorated his shoulders, while a beard hid his face well enough to mask any expression he wore. The unknown figure brought his hand up to the bar, revealing a generous amount of leaves as he removed his fingers. The barkeep understanding his meaning, and without flinching, procured a bottle of ale double the size of a pint. Whether the proprietor of the tavern knew this man, or not, no one could say. Everyone else couldn't recognize him.

Beverage of choice in hand, he turned around to examine the tavern. It wasn't long before his eyes laid on Ophilia. There, they stayed. With a nod, he stomped over towards the young cleric. Only a few steps of his boots and he sat down across from the sister.

People wearily watched, ready to step in to protect the adopted daughter of the archbishop. But as he stared her down, she matched his gaze with her own intrigued eyes. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was morbid curiosity. Whatever the reason, Ophilia continued her attempt at reading the unknown man.

Before she could come to any conclusions, the man laughed heartily, slapping his knee and almost knocking Ophilia's drink off the table in the process. The air seemed to warm at the sound of his cheerful bellowing. Some patrons chuckled along with him, as the daunting image of the man melted away to reveal a warm soul. Still, few watched to make sure it wasn't a ruse. With a nod from the barkeep – who was smirking all the while – even they started feeling comfortable with the newcomer.

For the time being, though, back to Ophilia and her guest.

"What an entrance! 'Tis always best to leave those 'round you gawking or interested," the man spoke, turning every which way to examine those in the tavern. "Hmph. Seems I've done both. Nonetheless, what a way t' make yourself known 'round these parts. Wouldn't you agree…?"

"Ophilia Clement," she supplied, keeping a small smile.

"Miss Ophilia. It is miss, yes?" With her nod, he continued introductions. "The pleasure's all mine, miss. Sorry for the damp blanket I was on the evenin', but as I said: an entrance is everything 'ere. You shall learn that on your adventure, 'm sure."

The still-unnamed man took a swig of his drink, clearing the amber-colored bottle of liquid past the neck. Ophilia, though, did not stare aghast at the man for that reason, but instead for how he deduced that she was departing soon to complete her pilgrimage.

"How did you…? When…?" the cleric stuttered, caught off-guard by the burly man.

He turned, addressing the sister matter-of-factly. "Hm? Oh, ya see everyone journeyin' tends to have this… air 'bout them. Yet, these signs are different from person t' person. For you, well, it seems you're determined, strong. How you hold yourself, though, bleeds kindness, a want to help those 'round you. Coupled with your priestess robes, and I can tell you're 'bout t' journey somewhere far, miss."

Ophilia was stunned, but recomposed herself after a drink of her wine. "That is correct, actually. I am impressed by your skills, mister…?"

For a moment, the man thought to himself. "Can't say yet, Miss Ophilia. Have not picked a name out for ya. Though I will 'm sure by the end of our meeting. First, though! Hm…"

The unnamed man took a drink and then stared directly into Ophilia's eyes, once again catching her off-guard. They held each other's gaze for only a few moments before the man, a gloom dimming his pupils, focused his attention on the table.

"A lot of doubt there for someone so young, 'twould seem. Not doubt in those around you, that's where you pour your belief into. The doubt stems from yourself. Spare me the specifics, as you seem troubled, but may I ask why?"

Understanding this was what the man did, Ophilia was not surprised. Perhaps it would help her. In her relaxed state from the wine, who was she to turn down such help?

Due to this fact, and her non-confrontational, friendly attitude, the cleric intended to reply. Instead, she thought on the question, wondering where she ought to start. No one place seemed right, yet neither did one place seem wrong. She could start anywhere in her tale and answer this man's question.

Then it hit her: why revisit her tale when she could start here instead?

Drinking the last of her mulled wine, Ophilia replied, "I am alone on this journey, my pilgrimage. I sit here, pondering on if I am strong enough to do this alone, for I see no one staying by my side throughout. I am afraid, without the strength of those around me, that I will fail."

Her confession came out smoothly, not missing a beat. Talking to this friendly stranger, airing out her worries relieved the troubled cleric. Even now, she felt a calming presence having shared her burden. If only she could do so throughout her pilgrimage.

The man let out a deep breath. "We all feel such doubt during troubled times, miss. 'Tis a thing we must undergo, a trial we must overcome, in order t' proceed in our own, separate ventures. But worry not. For I see it in you."

"Might I ask what that is?" Ophilia questioned with a strong curiosity.

Through his beard, the cleric swore she saw a smile. "Your warm nature. The ability t' help whoever, wherever, and the ability t' receive that aid in turn. You're someone who cares deeply, but wishes t' do the same for others. With that attitude, 'twill not be long 'fore you find someone joinin' you on your pilgrimage, Miss Ophilia."

With those words, the man stood from his seat, leaving behind an empty bottle and a few extra leaves. "I came 'ere t' find a tale, and I believe I did just that. Now, there are seven others 'round this continent who will help you. You'll find 'em in time, strung together by fate. A blessing, indeed. Enjoy these travels, and those who tarry with you, for 'twill be the time of your life. Hardships await, Miss Ophilia, but so much more is at the end of it all.

"When times are dark, do not forget t' turn t'wards the end of the tunnel t' see the light, nor be 'fraid t' walk back to it."

The man started to make his way to the door. Stunned by his words, Ophilia stood from her seat and called out to him.

"Wait! Sir, how do you know all of this?" she asked after him.

He continued walking, tapping the side of his head. "A great bard knows his tale, even 'fore it has begun."

"And your name?"

The man stopped at the doorway and spared Ophilia a glance, giving her an unseen, warm grin. He chuckled heartily. "I was right, I found it. Name's Teller, Miss Ophilia. 'm eager t' see where your pilgrimage takes you."

Then the door closed behind Teller, leaving a warmer tavern and happier costumers. Once departed, the barkeep passed out drinks to everyone, saying it was courtesy of the bard, himself. A mulled wine was brought over to Ophilia. For once, she partook in a second drink, but continued to stare at the door. Seconds passed, then minutes, until the Knight Ardante came through the door, informing the cleric it was time to depart.

As she readied herself to leave, she felt a sense of pride in herself. For Ophilia, who was only hours ago dreading undertaking this pilgrimage alone, now knew she would not be. Around the continent, there were others waiting for her, to share in the trials and tribulations, laughs and bonds, good times and bad that came with a journey such as hers.

So, when she stepped outside of the tavern, staff firmly in hand, the winter storm parted, revealing a promising sun.

The Knight Ardante asked, "Are you ready, Sister Ophilia?"

She smiled gently. "More than I could ever have been."

* * *

 _ **The storm looming in Ophilia's heart had passed, swept away by human means:**_

 _ **the prolific bard, Teller, raising her spirits as he regaled her with the future of her pilgrimage.**_

 _ **Neither did the cleric know if he was right, nor did she know if he was wrong, but it aided her all the same.**_

 _ **She decided that those who would join her, she wished to know.**_

 _ **Those she knew, she wished to befriend.**_

 _ **From those friendships, Ophilia would not be able to guess as to the bonds she would forge by comforting fires.**_

 _ **Yet, her story, as with seven others, would intermingle in unknown, memorable ways, all it would take was a tale or two.**_

 _ **In order to warm herself and begin her travels, she ventures forth towards Atlasdam, where her tale shall continue…**_

* * *

 **So begins the tale of "Loose Lips in the Tavern."**


	2. Tale Two

**Tale Two, Cyrus**

* * *

Admittedly, Cyrus Albright had trouble interacting with those of the fairer sex. That could be discerned from a simple conversation with the young scholar. However, it didn't come across as rude or indecent in anyway; instead, it was the fact that he didn't know when his flattery started to cross the line, turning from simple complements to flirting. Yet it seemed Cyrus never noticed such small trivialities, instead saying as he thought and focusing on his studies. This caused him no shortage of issues with his students. Which is what brought him to where he was now: at the local tavern in Atlasdam, enjoying a chilled glass of port, on temporary sabbatical from the university.

In the end, it all worked out, allowing Cyrus to conduct his own field research around the continent of Orsterra. Even more convenient was the appearance of his newest travel companion who helped to track down and retrieve a stolen tome from the university archives. Using their magic together, Cyrus found he and Ophilia were quite the dynamic duo.

"You are as skilled as you are beautiful," Cyrus had commented in the catacombs, receiving a blush from the sister in turn.

After having seen the professor's interactions with his student, Therese, as they left, Ophilia had deduced that was simply his analytical mind not understanding the emotional impact of his words. It was then, as they left to the tavern to celebrate their victory, that she had heavily sighed, shaking her head.

"Not a flirt, just unaware of his words," she had mumbled.

Now, they were both enjoying a glass of port favored by Cyrus, who chilled his with his ice magic, while Ophilia was happy to enjoy the drink at room temperature.

"Tell me about yourself, Miss Ophilia. I do wish to know about my traveling companion before we depart to more fruitful pastures," Cyrus began as he took a sip of his wine. "From Flamesgrace, yes? Must be a terribly cold place."

The sister smiled softly. "Indeed, but we have Aelfric's Flame to keep us warm. It is quite convenient, but also warms weary souls, which is why I am on this pilgrimage. After all, Flamesgrace isn't the only sanctuary of the faithful."

"Of course, my dear. I have always found the power of the pantheon fascinating. Though, I'll admit, my scholarly pursuits lean towards history's mysteries and matters of the arcane, and… what's so funny?"

Trying to hide her chuckling behind her hand, Ophilia found she was caught, tickled by some of Cyrus' words. "Oh, it's nothing, Professor Albright. It's just that you rhymed history and mystery. Tickled me a little bit."

The scholar thought on his phrase for a moment, smiling as he realized his word play. "Huh, it would seem so. I'm a poet and I didn't even realize."

"Um, but you missed…"

"Hm?"

"Nothing, professor. Nothing at all," Ophilia said, biting back her words.

 _He really is unaware of his words sometimes,_ she thought humorously.

Cyrus chuckled. Not expecting that reaction, Ophilia wondered off-handedly if he could read minds, as well, before giving him a questioning glance.

The scholar swirled the contents of his glass, allowing the aromatic properties of the port to become enhanced. For a moment, he hummed thoughtfully, for once thinking on his words. It was something that the cleric believed she would see little of, so she patiently waited for Cyrus to speak, lest she interrupt the one chance she might see him take his time thinking. Moments passed before he spoke, the silence between them oddly comforting, even though they had just met earlier that day.

"It has been quite some time since I have found myself in such company, Ophilia," Cyrus finally commented. "I must admit, it is a breath of fresh air. Few I can call companions, I hope that along our journey we can call ourselves such."

With that, the scholar rose his glass in the air. "To new ventures across Orsterra, may they prove as intriguing as they are daunting."

Ophilia smiled, clinking her own glass against his. "To new ventures!"

They drank from their port heartily, before setting their drinks down on the table and sighing happily. A warmth flowed through them, a combination of their beverages and the bond they now shared.

"It's funny," Ophilia commented, circling the rim of her glass with her finger, as she was wont to do. "Before I left Flamesgrace, I stopped at the local tavern there, as well. I often do not partake in such habits, but after the realization of the burden bestowed upon my shoulders caught up with me, I needed something to calm me."

Cyrus listened intently, folding his hands under his chin and gazing at his fellow traveler with intrigued eyes.

Wistfully, the cleric stared into her drink. "There, I met a man named Teller. He provided comforting words when I did not have the strength to conjure them up myself. Then, though my doubts are still there, he eased them, taking some of the pressure of my pilgrimage away from me with him, as we are now doing for each other." She gestured between herself and the scholar, recreating their ties. "But I digress. He told me that he was a bard and that there would be seven other companions awaiting my presence to venture forth themselves on their own journeys; that they would help me as I would help them. After fearing that I would have to face my pilgrimage alone, hearing those words aided me more than I would know. I do not know how he foretold this, but it would seem that what he had said is coming true, wouldn't you think?"

Ophilia's glance drifted up to Cyrus to see him now doing as she had only moments ago and focusing on his drink.

He hummed an affirmative noise before eyeing her cryptically, much like he did with those he scrutinized earlier in the day. Much like them, Ophilia felt slightly unnerved by the action. Meaning to speak, he shook his head and took a drink of his wine, replacing his façade with a charming grin.

"I am sorry, my dear, sometimes I lose control of myself when I have so many questions about a certain topic. Almost interrogated you much like the suspects," the scholar apologized, realizing where his train of thought would take him. Being with a new traveling companion, he did not want to say or act untoward to her. Cyrus continued, "My curiosity was piqued, for you see, I met such a man only a week prior. A burly man? Had a theatrical entrance, like jumping through a window?"

"He jumped through a window!?" Ophilia questioned in shock.

Cyrus chuckled in return. "Yes, Teller did say it was for practical reasons, though. Claimed it was…"

"…to make an entrance," Ophilia finished.

"So, you have met the man?"

"Yes, and his name was Teller, as well. Did he speak directly to you?"

Licking his lips, the scholar partook in his drink once more before continuing his tale. "Not necessarily, no. He came to tell stories, buying people drinks, and seemingly on friendly terms with the barkeep. I think that's what saved him the wrath of the staff, in all honesty. His tales were of times past; of great Hornburg and its fall so many years ago – funny thing, it influenced my lectures. He spoke of an alchemist he sojourned with for some time, a man who could cure any ailment, natural or otherwise. Then, he became more personal with his life, talking of a skilled hunter he drank under the table and beat in dice. It was quite the evening, and I found myself rooted by his charismatic way of storytelling. As were the other patrons, for he made back all he spent, and more, in that night.

"Yet, it was when he was about to leave that we made eye contact. In that moment, I felt like _I_ was the one being questioned. By a simple glance." Cyrus breathed, finishing his tale, but not before adding, "He is no mere bard, I can tell you this."

Ophilia, feeling her turn to tell her own side of the story, took a drink of her own port. "It would seem so. As I said, he predicted that I would meet seven companions along my pilgrimage who would change my life. Though what will happen remains to be seen, I believe his prediction may be coming to pass. After all, I have met you."

"Why, thank you for believing it was I who he spoke of," Cyrus rose his glass momentarily to Ophilia. "Yet the mystery still remains: who is this man? What is his craft? Is it mystical or mundane?" The scholar chuckled before finishing his wine. "It would seem I have found yet another mystery to solve while on this journey."

The cleric chuckled softly. "Yes, the mystery of the bard."

"Ah, yes! The Mystery of the Bard is what we shall call it. Then I believe we need to find our clues, wouldn't you agree, my dear."

"Indeed, Professor Albright."

The traveling companions could not help but laugh outright from the turn their conversation had took. Much of the possible awkwardness that comes with a new meeting was vanished instantly by the bond they created. Such a feeling, to connect with someone so easily on some level, was a foreign concept to the cleric and scholar. Neither knew how best to convey what they felt, so they simply laughed until their stomachs hurt.

Calming down, Ophilia commented offhandedly. "My, if you hadn't become a professor, you could have well passed for a detective." The wine, it would seem, was stronger than the cleric expected, causing her to act out of character. She stood proudly on her chair, proclaiming to the tavern, "Detective Albright: the doer of good, fighter of shadows, discoverer of mysteries, and keenest intellect in all of Atlasdam!"

Feeling the effects of the port and despite his sides hurting, Cyrus guffawed. "Of course! Yes, yes, my dear! But nay, not just Atlasdam; I daresay all of Orsterra!" At this point, the scholar joined his companion. "No case unsolvable, no duty too difficult, no place for ne'er-do-wells to hide, for my fire will find them!"

Carried away by his acting, Cyrus actually lit a ball of fire and began tossing it around in his hands, all the while laughing. From an outsider's perspective, there were two views: one, that both Cyrus and Ophilia were mad, and would burn the tavern to the ground; two, those who knew the professor also knew that, after a strong port, he would get swept away in his speeches. Albeit, this seemed to be the most creative one so far. Those costumers received no small amount of amusement from the scene, some even cheering the self-titled "detective's" name.

"Detective Albright! Detective Albright! Detective Albright!"

With one last cheer, the two traveling companions sat back in their seats. Cyrus waved at the patrons, while Ophilia's cheeks turned a bright shade of red as her mind caught up with how she had just acted.

"I… I believe this port was quite strong, Professor Albright," Ophilia voiced her concerns meekly, reeling from her embarrassment.

"You are undoubtedly correct my dear. Usually I have half a glass, but it seemed that such an occasion needed a full glass," the scholar admitted. "If we are done with our drinks, it is best we retire for the night. We have a long journey starting tomorrow, and our first clue to this mystery is to find the remaining six companions, would you not agree?"

The cleric joined him while he produced enough leaves to pay for their drinks. Nodding her thanks, Ophilia concurred. "Agreed. Where should we head off to first, then?"

As they exited the tavern, Cyrus thought on his companion's question for a moment. "Should we head northeast? No, that would be far too dangerous with just the two of us. Perhaps through the Frostlands? But then, we would be backtracking… No, no, we must…"

Suddenly a strong breeze blew in from the south. With it came the faint whiff of the ocean. Splashing waves, gulls crying, beaches with warm sand, the sudden gust imprinted this vision in Ophilia's mind. With a smile, she leaned on her staff, turning the direction from where the wind had come from.

"We travel to the Coastlands."

Cyrus joined her, staring off towards where they would inevitably meet the sea. He grinned. "A most excellent decision, Miss Ophilia."

The cleric turned to her partner. "Please, just Ophilia."

Without waiting for his response, the young woman left towards the inn to procure rooms for her and the professor.

Chuckling, Cyrus followed, saying, "Then I will do just that."

* * *

 _ **Departing his towers of books for the field, Cyrus has joined the young cleric, Ophilia.**_

 _ **Though traveling for different reasons, the duo had already worked towards a beneficial partnership that would progress forward.**_

 _ **Their words mingled in with the tavern of Atlasdam, now joining those that had bled into the establishment's wooden walls over numerous years.**_

 _ **With those words said, they move forward towards the Coastlands, wondering at what their bond with Teller would bring in time…**_


	3. Tale Three

**Tale Three, Tressa**

* * *

"Cheers to kicking some baddy butt!" Tressa exclaimed, raising her glass to meet her new traveling companions' own. "Without you guys, I don't think the plan would have worked, but it went perfectly! Nick and Nack were none the wiser."

The three adventurers drank. Ophilia was surprised when all she tasted was juice.

"A pleasant change from what we usually drink at taverns, Tressa," the cleric commented happily, enjoying the sweet taste of the fruity nectar. "Rarely do we have anything such as fruit in Flamesgrace, might I ask what this is?"

"Oh, it's plum nectar mixed with grape juice. Makes for an energizing drink. I always have one after a hard day of sales!"

"I have done my research on this drink. It is quite the delicacy around these parts," Cyrus commented before taking a sip. He smiled, "Unsurprisingly, it lives up to its reputation."

"Glad you like it," Tressa beamed. "So, what brings you guys all the way out here to the Coastlands? Seems like a wayward place for travelers to venture to by foot, most people just wander in here on the tide."

"Well, much like you, we each have our own ventures," Cyrus supplied, brushing a strand of his dark hair behind his ear. "Ophilia here is on a pilgrimage from Flamesgrace, while I am doing some field research on missing tomes from Atlasdam."

"Whoa, then you lot have come a long way. You're sure its okay if I come along with you on such important journeys?" the young merchant questioned cautiously.

"Why, of course! We need all the aid we can get," the scholar assured.

Ophilia nodded her head in turn before saying, "Besides, it would seem fate has put our journeys on the same path. While we all have our own ordeals ahead of us, I believe that the Gods knew we would each need help in different ways."

"Couldn't have said it better myself, Ophilia," Cyrus complimented. "A beauty in both speech and appearance, truly a majestic woman you are."

Ophilia and Tressa laughed uneasily at the scholar's words. The younger woman whispered behind her hand, "Is he always flirting like this?"

The cleric thought on what the merchant had said for a moment. "Professor Albright does not always understand what he says to others, men and women. Some of the men we met on our way here were stunned by his flowery speech."

Unable to hold back her laughter, Tressa almost fell out of her chair. Instead, she was able to catch herself, her head bobbing and – amusedly noticed by Ophilia – the feather in Tressa's cap following her movements.

"What I would pay to see the looks on their faces. Could make a pretty leaf off of that shock value," the merchant commented once she regained control of herself. "There's an idea! Think Cyrus would go along with it?"

Ophilia sighed worriedly. "I'm not sure that would be…"

"Hey, Professor! Would you be interested in helping me make a few leaves at our next stop?"

Unsure where the merchant was heading with this line of thinking, Cyrus confusedly rejoined the conversation between his two female companions. "Might I ask what this venture would entail, Tressa?"

"Oh, you'll have to wait and see," she replied cryptically. The conniving glint in her eye wasn't missed by her fellows. Within their first day of meeting the merchant, they already knew she would be a tricky one, albeit useful when it came to finding deals on supplies or fighting those who would stand in their way.

"It would seem we truly have found the third member of our group, Ophilia," the professor commented as he drank from his cup.

"What d'ya mean by that, Professor?"

"Well, Tressa, we actually knew we would find another companion to join us in the Coastlands," Ophilia answered. "A bard we both met in our own cities informed me that I would find seven other companions that would aid me on my pilgrimage and I would aid in turn."

"Oh, sounds like a seer or something. I heard about them from one of the sailors in port. They can apparently see into the future. Sounds a bit too fishy to me, but I haven't seen much of the world, so who can say if there isn't someone like that out there?" The young woman smiled from ear-to-ear. "That's what this adventure is for: to see the world!"

The professor chuckled, impressed by Tressa's abundance of curiosity. Maybe, on this venture, he would find a new student to take under his wing. Yet, something else stuck in Cyrus' mind.

"While that is a grand ambition, Tressa, you said you only heard about seers from another sailor? Did you ever meet the man?" the scholar questioned quickly.

"Well, I don't know, Professor. Can't say I met a man like that, what's his name?" Tressa replied truthfully.

"Teller."

"Then, no. Never met someone named that, or a bard wandering around these parts for that matter. Why?"

"Hm… that puts a hole in my working theory, then," Cyrus muttered disappointedly. He took a drink of his juice to refocus his mind. "Teller hasn't met all those we are to meet then, Ophilia."

Making a sound of agreement, the cleric added, "That's what I was wondering, too. It seems he has only met us two so far."

"Then, factoring in how he at least had knowledge of our journeys, it is safe to assume he can see into the future."

"So, he is a seer!? I wanna meet him!" excitedly exclaimed Tressa, much to the amusement of her companions.

"I am sure you will, Tressa. He appears in our travels from time to time, in one way or another," Cyrus reassured. "But, I believe this is a subject for another day. For now, we should welcome our new companion, share in the revelry and victory."

Ophilia giggled. "I agree wholeheartedly, Professor. To Tressa: the future greatest merchant of the Coastlands!"

The trio once again raised their glasses and cheered, happy to be on their journey. None of them knew where their travels would take them, but in moments like these, those who venture into the unknown rarely care. As was the motto of the Coastlands, they would follow the wind and wherever it would take them. For the time being, before returning to the roaring tempest that was journeying throughout Orsterra, they would celebrate the small accomplishments they had made this day. Ordering another round of the tropical beverage they had just finished, the group regaled each other with tales of their past, learning about one another.

First was Ophilia, planning to speak of her time at Flamesgrace quickly, as to make way for what she believed to be more exciting tales of the others' pasts. Her story shortly covered a time when her and her sister, Lianna, had met an alchemist in town, much older than they were at the time. With red cheeks, she relayed how her younger sister had made fun of her for having a small crush on the healer.

Tressa laughed at the cleric's story. "Ah, a case of young love at first sight. Never had a crush myself, did he have a lot of money?"

"No, that wasn't it," Ophilia replied, cheeks deepening in color, but lips tugged in a meek smile at the fond memory. "He helped people for little to nothing, healing their wounds, curing their ills, it was a sight to behold."

"Ah, so you like the nice guys. Never met one here, someone always has a business angle attached to them."

"I… guess that's it. But, whether that's true or not, it was a puppy crush, nothing like love at first sight."

"You speak true, Ophilia, but perhaps, someday, if such a man were to enter your life again, you would feel that way," Cyrus commented. While meaning to speak plain, the words came off as coy, causing the cleric to turn into a stuttering mess.

"That's… I-I mean, it's not like… Oh…"

Giggling, Tressa decided to take pity on the poor woman. "Ah, come on, Professor, I think that's enough joking with Ophilia."

"Who was joking?" he intoned seriously.

Unused to Cyrus's ways of speaking, the merchant simply glossed over it and continued. "Right… well, maybe we should move on to the next person. Which is me!"

Tressa immediately jumped into her story, telling her tale excitedly, not missing any emotion. While the tale itself was not terribly interesting – it was of a deal she made while perusing the marketplace in Rippletide – her energized attitude kept Cyrus and Ophilia intrigued in the marketing adventure.

"And in the end, I saved at least one hundred leaves!" Tressa chuckled. "Poor guy didn't know what hit him."

In boast, the merchant took a swig of her drink, trying to act the tough part she had seen many times portrayed by the sailors looking for a pint at the end of a rough day at sea. While that façade of her character wasn't fooling her companions, they did enjoy the tale.

"Well-spoken, my dear!" Cyrus congratulated. "You have a knack for storytelling. The way you add your energy while weaving together your words spoke of your skills as a bard. Perhaps you should begin compiling a list of tales yourself along our journey."

"That is what I wanna do, Professor. After all, this journal," the merchant produced the leather-bound book from her pack "will be filled with my own adventures soon enough, plus the treasure that we'll find along the way."

"Then it is good practice. I eagerly await the day I can add _Tressa's Tales: A Merchant's Ventures through Orsterra_ to my bookshelf."

"Yeah, yeah! That's good, mind if I buy that idea off of you, Professor?"

"It is yours to take. I only ask that the second copy of your manifest become mine. The first is yours, after all."

"When I have the journal, who needs the original copy? That would be better in your hands."

"We have a deal, then," Cyrus concluded, extending his hand.

The merchant shook it eagerly. "That we do, good sir. A pleasure doing business with you!"

To mark their first deal as traveling companions they took lasting swigs of their drinks, reaching the bottom of their cups. Satisfied, Tressa let out a small burp, muttering, "Excuse me" before returning her attention to the scholar.

"Now it's your turn, Professor. You have to have a story or two from teaching in Atlasdam."

"If you count teaching the academics of tomorrow as a story, then I have many to share, Tressa," Cyrus beamed. "Why, I had this student a year ago who was a studier of ancient civilizations, archaeology and the like. From his latest correspondence with me, he seems to be plunging into a tomb of an ancient civilization far in the depths of the Woodlands. I warned him of the indigenous tribes and snakes around that region, but I doubt he heeded my advice. He always hated those slithering reptiles."

"Um, Professor…?" Tressa tried to stop the scholar before he continued. Even though she tried to put a word in, Cyrus was already rambling. The merchant said to Ophilia, "He really likes his speeches, huh?"

"I haven't traveled with Professor Albright long, but, from what I can tell, it would seem so," the cleric sighed good-naturedly.

"Then we might be here awhile…"

As the two women exchanged defeated words, the professor continued on about his prized prodigy over his short tenure. His students ranged from a young man interested in zoology, particularly magical creatures, to a woman who practiced magic, wishing to start her own school to pass down the arcane arts. It seemed Cyrus taught every subject to everyone who wished to learn. If he didn't know a particular study, then he would read up on it until he was a veritable expert on the topic. While the stories themselves were needlessly elongated, the professor's traveling companions still found themselves interested in the lecture.

"…and there was this one student, I cannot quite remember his name, but he sang as he worked. Something about being 'the very model of a scientist Orsterran.' Poor lad passed away though trying to help an infertile tribe far to the west reproduce once more." Cyrus shook his head solemnly, before brightening and returning to his tale. "Sent me a letter once though, spoke of a shepherd he was following. An odd one he was, but far surpassed even my brilliance. Then there was…"

Tressa raised her hand, hoping to catch the scholar before he spoke anymore about his students. "Um, Professor?"

Noticing the merchant, and out of habit, Cyrus handed the floor to her. "Yes, Tressa?"

"While we like your stories about your pupils, wouldn't it be a good idea to save them for another time? After all, we may need an inspiring story further down the line."

Smiling, the professor pointed at the young woman. "An excellent point. I believe we should reconvene at a later date, then. I have numerous stories about my teachings at Atlasdam, ones that would be better to share with more people."

"Exactly!" Tressa grinned, happy that the scholar agreed. "I think its best we turn in for the night. We have a long day of traveling to the Highlands tomorrow."

"The Highlands?" Ophilia asked.

"Yeah! That's the first place I wanna see. I've only ever seen sand and ocean, but mountains? They're just shadows in the distance."

Tressa stood from her seat, followed by her companions. "The treasures that await us there… oh, I can't wait! It has to be our first stop, it just has to!"

For a moment, the cleric thought on the idea before nodding her head. "You know, that sounds like a good idea. We may find another of our fellow travelers that way, as well. What do you think, Professor?"

"I believe the Highlands would be a brilliant place for our adventures to continue," Cyrus agreed happily. "Then let us rent rooms at the inn to rest up. Tomorrow, we depart towards the mountainous Highlands!"

Tressa cheered excitedly, while Ophilia giggled. The trio walked through the doorway of the tavern, inspired and ready to travel forth into the unknown.

* * *

 _ **From the long beaches of the Coastland, these adventurers continued their travels.**_

 _ **Once again, coming to Rippletide, Ophilia had come across a venturous soul, wishing to go on her own journey across Orsterra.**_

 _ **Teller's predictions seemed to be coming true, the cleric surmised, so who would they next encounter?**_

 _ **Only time would tell as the mountains of the Highlands beckoned their heed, wishing to serve as a place of adventures and treasure…**_


	4. Tale Four

**Tale Four, Olberic**

* * *

"A knight from the Lost Kingdom of Hornburg. Never would I believe that I would meet such a man of honor on our journey," Cyrus exclaimed, almost fawning over the ethnographic research he could accomplish by speaking with Olberic Eisenberg. "Had I known whilst we were battling those bandits, I would have taken the time to examine you more studiously!"

The knight-turned-wanderer of mention drank greedily from his mug, enjoying the warmth of the alcohol after a long day of fighting. It was one of life's few simple pleasures. With drink in hand, the myriad of questions that had already been asked of him by the scholar were hardly affecting him. He simply smiled.

"Don't worry, Professor, in our journeys there shall be many victories to come. You will see my fighting style then. But you're a studious type, so might I ask why you wish to examine how I battle?"

"Well, as a scholar of knowledge, researching the fighting methods passed down by a kingdom gone will produce immeasurable data!"

Unknowingly, the warrior had opened a box of questions that would be thrown his way well into the morning. Upon noticing where Cyrus was heading with his train of thought, Tressa – after finishing her drink in one fell swig – interrupted the scholar.

"Hold it, hold it! Professor, I think we should save the questions for another time," the merchant spoke, uninhibited in her speech as the strong stout did its work. "After all, we just defeated a gang of baddies, we should be celebrating! And hearing some stories from our new friend."

Taking a sip of his own stout, the scholar thought for a moment before nodding. "My dear, you are right, sometimes I lose myself in my research. Pray tell, can we continue this research later, Sir Eisenberg?"

The warrior chuckled. "It is not 'Sir Eisenberg' anymore, you can call me Olberic, Professor. As for the questions, I will be honored to aid in preserving the knowledge of Hornburg."

"Of course, Olberic! Anytime you wish, I am willing. After all, a scholar's job is from sun up until sun down."

"Then I await that day."

The two men clinked their mugs together, drinking hardly to seal their deal.

Meanwhile, Ophilia watched the conversations taking place from the outside, simply enjoying being able to listen to her companions for the time being. It was a small amount of joy, but one that warmed her body in this land that was almost as cold as the Frostlands. Upon thinking of her homeland, the cleric stared into her drink, wondering how His Excellency and Anna were fairing.

"Ophilia!"

The exclamation from Tressa brought the cleric out of her brief reverie. She flashed her companions a small smile, noticing the red that had spread across the merchant's face. "Yes, Tressa?"

"You… haven't drank hardly anything!" Tressa accused drunkenly. Apparently, it only took the one drink to render the young woman intoxicated. "Come on! I drank my mug in one go, so you should have nooooo trouble!" A small hiccup accompanied her, somehow still, coherent words.

The cleric stared into her drink. After taking even a whiff of the stout, she knew it would be extremely strong for her taste. Forget the taste, the scent of the alcohol caused Ophilia to already feel heady. She glanced at Cyrus and Olberic, both drinking from the mugs as they eyed their companion with little expression, more intrigue. Finishing their drinks, and still appearing in control of themselves, spoke to the men's constitution.

Sighing, Ophilia decided to bite the arrow. Taking a sip, the potent drink seemed to slam into the back of her head, causing her to cough. The remaining group of travelers chuckled at the sight.

"Take it slow, Ophilia," Olberic commented with a smirk. "Drinks in the Highlands are as strong as the mountains. This brew, in particular, is a specialty of Cobbleston."

"Is that so?" Ophilia responded at the end of her coughing fit. Before speaking again, she took another sip to clear her throat, better prepared for the drink. Even after considering the potency and taste, the stout still hit her stomach hard. "Would this be why the town is full of hardy individuals?"

The warrior guffawed. "That, and the food. Breeds tough men and proud women. Drinking this stout reminds me why I stayed here for as long as I have. I will miss this town, but there is a journey I must take."

"Oh, that is such a badass, knightly thing to say! What is it?" Tressa interrupted excitedly, jumping to her feet and leaning on the table. "Could it be to find a missing prince? Or to slay a dragon!? Wait, wait, I know! You need to save a princess from a devilish monster guarding a tall tower in a volcano in the Canyonlands!"

Olberic, though speaking seriously, rubbed the back of his head, entertained by the young merchant. "Those are fantastical ideas, Tressa, far too fantastical for my own tale, mind you. Mine is a more personal matter that, for the time being, I wish to keep to myself."

"Aw… 's no fair…"

At Tressa's pouting, the warrior chuckled warmly. "Don't worry. Someday, you will know my tale. For now, let us celebrate and toast to our budding group of vagabonds."

"Here, here!" Ophilia chimed, her face turning red from her drink. "To Olberic! The Unbending Blade!"

"Here, here!"

Glasses thudded happily as the group clinked their mugs together. Cyrus and Olberic finished theirs off at the same time, waving the waitress over for another almost as soon as their empty mugs hit the table. Ophilia, meanwhile, still had half of her stout left. A burp escaped her lips, causing her cheeks to lighten up even more as she covered her mouth with a distressed noise.

"Excuse me…" she mumbled.

Tressa laughed hysterically at the sight. "It's so adorable when you get embarrassed, Ophilia. Even more so when you burp!"

"Tressa…"

"No, no. She is right, my dear. There is a certain attractiveness in a woman blushing. Perhaps it's a man's want to cause such a reaction?" the scholar inquired as he unintentionally flirted with the cleric. "Even so, it is a delight for most to see a beautiful lady's cheeks light up like the horizon surrounding a rising sun."

"Professor…" Ophilia mumbled, the redness in her face only growing deeper.

"What flowery words, Professor Albright. A bachelor through and through, I suppose," Olberic commented as the two men received their new drinks.

They both took a sip before Cyrus retorted dramatically.

"Bachelor I am, but only in marriage. In profession, I am dutifully wedded to my studies."

"Married to your profession? A good man, but do not forget to enjoy that which you reap."

"And I do just that, Olberic."

"To doing just that."

The two men raised their drinks, with Ophilia sluggishly meeting theirs and Tressa holding her empty mug upside down as all four travelers brought their stouts together in yet another toast.

"It would seem you are able to hold your drink well, Professor Albright," Olberic commented, feeling some of the initial effects of his beverage. "I can't even tell if you are actually drinking, or if you switched your stout out for something softer."

"Well, if you wish to test the genuineness of my constitution, have a sip yourself," Cyrus reassured with a smirk, offering his mug to the warrior.

Instincts dulled by the alcohol, Olberic ignored them and snatched the proffered drink from the scholar's hand. "I'll do just that!"

Cautious, as to not drink too much, the warrior took a sip before returning the container to its owner. Wiping his face, Olberic commented, "Yup, that's a drink all right! Seems to be much stronger than mine, too. What in hells' names do you have in there, professor?"

Cyrus sat his drink on the table. "This drink, Olberic, is a concoction of mine, in that I asked the bartender to add a splash of firewater to the base stout. It is a drink I occasionally ask for back in Atlasdam after a long day's research. Usually puts the spirit right back in me, if I do say so myself."

"Wish I knew that recipe myself, could have used it a few days of my life," Olberic drawled. For a moment, his mind lamented on his fallen liege, thinking back to the treachery from his closest friend. The stout thinking more than his mind, it was, but he still couldn't help to feel the familiar sorrow of losing his kingdom.

"Could use it now, actually," the former knight of Hornburg whispered, hoping his sullen words would not be heard. Not an actor or patron of the performing arts, his demeanor and expression were all too easily read by Cyrus and Ophilia.

"Hornburg was a staunch kingdom," the professor comforted, placing his hand on the warrior's shoulder. "I know not what you seek on your journey, save having it to do with avenging your king. What I do know is that you honor its lineage in battle."

A dull smile peeked on Olberic's face. "There are those flowery words again, Professor."

"You'll have to get used to it, Olberic," Ophilia spoke wholeheartedly, throwing her proper speech out the door as she drank more of her flagon. "We are traveling companions now, after all. Perhaps, someday, when we are friends, we can rely on each other to better continue our journeys."

"Thanks to you, Ophilia. You are right." Olberic brightened up at their words, already beginning to form a trust with his newfound allies. "For now, though, we travel to find our other companions. Four remain, correct?"

"Indubitably. We shall travel to the Sunlands next to better acquaint ourselves with both the territory and undoubtedly find a willing addition to our company," Cyrus affirmed. "Teller's tales are unfolding as he predicted."

"From the few words you have spoken of the bard, it would seem so. Truly wonderous."

"Yes, I ponder when we will meet him again, though I believe that day is fast approaching, in a tavern in lands we have yet traversed," Cyrus contemplated. "Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself. For now, these taverns will serve as a place of respite and drink. Speaking of, Olberic, have the remainder of mine. I am afraid my constitution is lessened in this higher elevation, so I could use the respite."

Noticing something behind Cyrus, Olberic smirked, hiding his laughter for the moment. "Gladly, Professor, but I believe Tressa has claimed that task."

"Hm?"

Cyrus and Ophilia turned towards the youngest member of their trio, noticing too late that she had swiped the scholar's drink while he wasn't watching. Just as she had with her first alcoholic beverage, Tressa was now chugging away at the dangerous brew of Highland stout and firewater. Before anyone could stop her, she finished the drink with a satisfying sound, red now highlighting her cheeks and her lithe body swaying in her chair.

"Wowza! That sure is something, Pro… Profes… Professor, um… Aldim…?" Tressa slurred, a dangerous drunken haze overtaking her. "Albright! Wait, no, that's it! That's it… Yeah…"

Taking full effect, the alcohol in the merchant's system hit her like a stampeding goat, knocking her over on her chair. She fell to the floor hard, causing the rest of her companions to jump out of their seats to help her. Expecting to see a messy sight before them, the group instead found Tressa happily snoozing away in a drunkard's dream.

Relieved that she was at least unharmed, Tressa's companions smiled and shook their heads, amused by the young merchant's antics.

"I believe it is time for bed, then," Olberic stated. "We must be prepared for tomorrow, after all. The Sunlands are no place for mistakes. Here, I'll take her."

Coming around to Tressa's side, the warrior carried the merchant with ease, picking her up in his arms bridal style. Not knowing who was holding her, Tressa snuggled into Olberic earning a round of chuckles from the group.

They made to leave the tavern then, trudging to the local inn: Olberic carrying Tressa, Cyrus her pack, and Ophilia sneaking the last of her ale past the bartender.

In the moonlight, their silhouettes resembled that of a happy band, marching to the beat of their own tunes.

* * *

 _ **In the Highlands, warmth is a scarce necessity that must be regulated well:**_

 _ **too hot, one would catch themselves alight in a fire; too cold, one would find themselves frozen atop one of the region's myriad of mountains.**_

 _ **Yet there was always one sure way to secure such a necessity in such a cold, rugged land.**_

 _ **That is, circle yourself amongst friends, with stories to tell, food to eat, and hearty drink.**_

 _ **Amongst this group of companions, to survive their journeys, they would need to keep this warmth securely blanketed over themselves…**_


	5. Tale Five

**Tale Five, Primrose**

* * *

A loud raucous applause rang through the entirety of the tavern that formerly belonged to Helgenish. Only a week had passed since the man was found dead in the sands outside of Sunshade, yet the citizens were celebrating. Owning the tavern allowed the man a firm grip on all aspects of the town. Once a paradise for those dedicated to the craft of dancing, Helgenish turned the artistic desert oasis into a den of greed and lust, using those who plied their craft to lure in sinful patrons. Now that the lecherous tavern owner was buried in the sprawling desert sands, the tavern – and thus Sunshade – once again belonged to the dancers who performed there.

Finishing one of their famous group performances, the current dancers on-stage bowed, happily accepting the customers' praise. While proud that her sisters-in-dance had taken control of their own destiny, Primrose Azelhart still felt a sting of melancholy. She sighed wistfully. After all, Yusufa would never take this stage again.

Rounds of soft, appreciative clapping reached her ears as she turned her gaze from her fellows to the people who had helped her.

Sitting at one of the tables closer to the bar, and the back, three of her new companions quietly cheered on the dancers from their seats. Glee written on their faces, Primrose could tell they appreciated the art for what it was – simply art. It warmed her heart to know that was how those in her new group of adventurers saw the world of dance.

"May I pour you another drink, Professor Albright?" Primrose offered kindly. She smiled warmly, pleased to serve those who aided in breaking her from Helgenish's chains.

"But of course, Lady Primrose! I cannot turn away such kindness," the scholar acquiesced easily, raising his glass as the dancer poured him a goblet of white pulque.

Primrose giggled at Cyrus' pure-hearted indulging. "Enjoy, professor. But please, just Primrose. I am a lady no longer."

"As of now, Primrose. Someday we shall see you as the head of House Azelhart once again. This, we swear," Olberic vowed as he drank his own drink. "For now, however, we welcome you into a group of wayward wanderers."

"It is a pleasure to have you with us, Primrose," Ophilia added gleefully, eyes shining with mirth.

Hiding her reddening cheeks, Primrose's grin only grew. "Thank you all, I swear I will aid you in your journeys, as well. Tonight, we enjoy, just as our personal bodyguard said." A wink was thrown the warrior's way for good measure.

In response, Olberic smirked. "Aye, she plays the part of romantic well, just as you do, Professor."

"I still am not quite sure what any of you mean by that," Cyrus sighed, his words' meanings still unbeknownst to him.

"Come now, I am sure there is someone out there who waits for you back home," Primrose spoke, pouring herself a cup of the same fermented cactus brew everyone else partook in. "A man with your looks and mannerisms must have many admirers."

"The flattery, my dear! Though I am charmed by such words, I cannot say I have anyone such as that back in Atlasdam," Cyrus acquiesced before taking a sip of his drink.

Ophilia laughed uneasily. "Professor, you perhaps are… a little oblivious sometimes."

"Never will I understand such words…"

"Ah, so the unknowing bachelor, you are? My, what fun I will have with you," Primrose toyed with the scholar. "We shall speak more of that later, we cannot have everyone spilling their secrets all at once. So, Ophilia, yourself?"

Though asked such an intimate question, the cleric kept her poise. Softly lit cheeks did not fool the dancer, no matter how much Ophilia had to drink. "I am afraid there is no one such as that in Flamesgrace for me."

"But you wish there to be?"

This caught the cleric off-guard.

"I, um… Well, yes, but… I have Anna and His Excellency, so I am quite content," Ophilia stuttered, the red in her cheeks growing.

Primrose let a feline chuckle escape her lips. She had the young woman now. "Seems as if you do wish to find someone you could hold dear to your heart that is not family. What an interesting turn of events to hear this from a sister of the Flame no less."

"The Order is not celibate, Primrose. In fact, it is quite natural for even the Archbishop to have a spouse, such is the case with Ophilia's father, I presume," Cyrus interceded, allowing the cleric a moment of respite.

Whether it was intentional or not, Ophilia was grateful for it. Although, the topic of her adoptive father's wife brought a new set of emotions to the forefront of her mind. She smiled softly, brown eyes dimming calmly as she wiped a strand of stray blonde hair behind her ear.

"His Excellency hardly spoke of his wife, but did so with a smile. She passed long before I was adopted into the Church. Though she is gone, I do not sense any grief from His Excellency. So, while a melancholy topic, He chooses to remember her and to go on living as she would want him to. I think…" Ophilia paused for a moment, lips widening and face glowing with a purer happiness. "I think that's what I would want, if I were to meet that one person, someone who would want me to live happily, and I them, no matter what."

"How lovely, Ophilia," Primrose commented, pleased by her companion's straightforwardness on the topic so early in their relationship. "Perhaps we shall find that one on this trip."

"Perhaps so," she replied simply.

"Too bad Tressa is not here to witness this. In Cobbleston, she was all too eager to hear about such a man in your life," Olberic commented. "You will have to tell this to her yourself, Primrose, when the merchant returns from the marketplace."

"I was wondering where she up and went off to," the dancer commented before slyly adding "but I do believe we are finished with Ophilia's sentiments for now. Though I will say, be warned, for it may not be a man she fancies. Many times have I seen a woman eye another woman with such passion."

"'Tis true, Primrose, would not be safe to assume. I knew a man once when I was in service to Hornburg that was such a way. Still a man, still a warrior."

"How progressive of you, Sir Olberic."

"Please, just Olberic."

Primrose giggled coyly. "Of course. Now, while we are on the topic of the Knights of Hornburg, why do you not share your own romantic interests."

At this, the warrior guffawed. "I am afraid there is none to be had there. Though I have had my occasional fancies as a lad, I never was in love with another. Being in service to Hornburg was my duty, and I put that before everything else. Including romance."

"As expected from a former knight. But now, you are unbound. Have you not thought of involving yourself with one you fancy?"

Olberic sighed wistfully. "There have been times, but never wholly. I have not found that woman who could match my strength, in emotion or physicality. A strong woman, one whom I could share my life with wholeheartedly, is what I desire."

"Hm, what interesting sentiments. You both have spoken of someone who we may well meet on our travels. After all, did that Teller not inform Ophilia of the seven other companions she was to meet?" the dancer asked to confirm her suspicions. Receiving a nod from the cleric, she continued, her voice dangerously smooth. "Then I will be on the lookout for any romantic intentions from either of you on the road, as we have three more fellow adventurers to find in our travels."

"As you wish, Primrose," Olberic responded, raising his glass to her in salute before downing the remainder of his pulque.

Before Primrose could follow-up, she was interrupted by Cyrus. "And would you tell us of your own romantic pursuits?"

The dancer choked on her drink. She brought her fist to her chest, trying to rid it of the unwanted burning sensation. Once she had regained her breath, and the others made sure she was okay, she retorted dumbfoundedly, "Mine?"

All present nodded their heads simultaneously.

"Well, I…

The dancer trailed off as she played with the end of her long brunette pony tail, sharp, analytical hazel eyes losing their edge.

"That is… something I would not like to discuss at the present," she admitted reluctantly, unhappy to have to hide a facet of her past life so quickly from her new companions. She turned away, expecting harsh retorts. "I am sorry."

Silence took over, but only briefly. It was not long before Ophilia spoke up.

"Do not be sorry. We all have things we would wish not to touch on, yet."

The words brought a look of disbelief to Primrose's face as her eyes turned back to her fellow travelers. What she saw was something that astounded her. Never, in all her years working under Helgenish, had the dancer seen such pure-hearted, transparent expressions. None at the table pressed her for answers, as she feared they would. When these questions weren't pursued, she feared they might look at her suspiciously. Even then, they did not.

They all understood.

They all knew her feelings.

They all respected her wishes.

It was enough to make Primrose want to cry. But she didn't; she held back her tears of relief, instead soaking in the moment while a giddy filling threatened to burst from her body. Repressing herself from acting out, she fell back on a smirk, showing her gratitude in smaller actions as she had shown herself these past years in similar fashions.

Tiny hints of emotion told much.

"Thank you. I am glad all of you feel that way," the dancer settled, a sense of relief mixing in with her giddiness.

"Of course, Primrose. We have to be here for each other, it will be a long journey, after all," Ophilia replied with her usual light tone filled with positivity. "Remember that if you ever need anything."

"I shall. Oh…"

The dancer, and her companions, turned towards the stage, noticing that the current duo had finished their own piece. Feeling a sense of gratitude, Primrose stood from her seat.

"Primrose?" Ophilia questioned, unsure what the new member of their group was doing.

Without saying a word, the talented dancer strode towards the stage, hips swaying seductively, arms moving subtly in a balancing act, and soft lips guiding those who watched to see her gleaming eyes. All of it was to captivate the audience surrounding her. Applause calming down, gazes repositioning to glean a better view of Primrose told her that any and all attention was now hers. She had learned to keep said attention as both a dancer and a daughter of House Azelhart.

Infatuating those before her, inspiring those around her; using her actions to allure, using her actions to call attention; speaking only when spoken to, speaking to earn the attention of those she spoke to. How a dancer used her techniques to receive the intended responses from the audience was oddly similar to how a daughter of a noble house was expected to act to earn the respect of her peers. The stage was the only difference between Primrose's two roles in life.

She smiled at the seemingly, unending dichotomy between the two aspects of her life. Everything she did to find her father was to better herself as the sole heir of House Azelhart. Only then had the young woman noticed such a similarity. It was comforting to know she still was subconsciously practicing to one day reclaim the title of Lady Azelhart.

Her feet lightly carried her up the steps to the back of the stage as she passed by the duet she had seen perform previously. They eyed Primrose scrupulously. She made a sound of amusement. Amongst all peers, it would seem, there were similarities.

Before she could become the head of her house again and return to Noblecourt, Primrose would find those men with the tattoos of the many aspects of the crow; she would avenge her father; and she would help those who would help her.

As the dancer thought on her new companions she found herself watching them from the stage. Making sure she had their attention above all others', Primrose rose her arms above her head, her legs' muscles ready to take their first step, ears attuned to the silence of the tavern that now poured all of its customers' attention into her. She took her first step.

Before all else could happen, she would dance.

* * *

 _ **In the hot, harsh Sunlands did Ophilia and company once again find a soul wishing to travel to accomplish their own goals.**_

 _ **Learning of the young Lady-turned-dancer Primrose's past, the group believed they would need to welcome her slowly.**_

 _ **Yet, she fit in quickly, allowing part of herself to be as truthful as they were with her; and to show her gratitude, she danced well into the night.**_

 _ **Sometimes, words cannot convey what others feel, but their body is more than willing to speak of their inner thoughts to those they care for…**_


	6. Tale Six

**Tale Six, Alfyn**

* * *

A loud gasp echoed throughout the tavern. Sounding satisfied, albeit startling, to the group of three traveling companions sitting in the Clearbrook establishment located close to the border of the Riverlands. Locals chuckled at the young blond man's seemingly insatiable drinking before turning back to their own business.

Wiping his mouth of the excess suds hanging on his lips, Alfyn Greengrass's brown eyes reflected the amber liquid he had just ingested, glistening lightly like a mug of mead. Before he could even raise his hand to ask for another drink, the barkeep already replaced his empty mug with one filled graciously to the brim. This earned a joyful laugh from the apothecary that had just joined Ophilia's group of wayward adventurers.

And she had to admit, Alfyn's jovial nature was infectious. Before she could stop herself, the cleric found laughter coming easily to her.

Taking a hearty swig, but saving most of his mead, Alfyn smiled brilliantly at his new companion. "Musta done something real funny to get that response!"

"Not at all, Alfyn. It's just your nature that makes it easy to be so open and joyous," Ophilia commented. Without even hesitating, she took a drink of her own mug, slowly being drawn into the actions and conversations of the easygoing, good-natured apothecary.

"Ophilia is right. Your happiness is infectious. With your profession, it must do wonders for your patients," Primrose stated with a glint of something in her eyes. "How you do it, I am unsure."

"Simple, Miss Primrose: just hafta to remember why you're helping those folks, and the rest comes easy," Alfyn replied nonchalantly, before rubbing his nose. "Plus, thinkin' 'bout a stiff drink at the end of the day helps."

"Ah, there's the greed seen in all men."

"What can I say? I'm an apothecary of simple tastes."

"It would seem so. Maybe it will rub off on a certain merchant we know."

Upon mentioning the youngest member of their group, the three turned their gaze to Tressa who was indulging in the honeyed beverage. Wired already from the sugar rush, the merchant's head swerved quickly from companion to companion, eyes questioning why they were staring at her. A sudsy moustache created by her drink's froth did not help her in shedding her child-like demeanor that she carried as the youngest member of the travelers. While Alfyn perpetuated mirth to those around him seemingly unnoticeably, Tressa's antics and innocent curiosity encouraged a certain humor that could be felt by anyone near her.

"Simple's good and all, Primrose, but nothing beats a treasure nestled deep in your heart!" Tressa replied with an energetic, assured tone.

Alfyn could only laugh. "That you're right, Tressa! Havin' that one thing you care about more than anything is key. Whether a real thing or something you believe in, that's what keeps us movin' forward, ain't it?"

"You know it!"

The two clinked their mugs together, creating a dulled sound replaced by the immediate gurgling accompanied with drinking mead. As it had only just recently, another loud gasp echoed throughout the tavern, this time joined by a higher-pitched as equally pleased gasp from Alfyn's merchant fellow.

"On that note," Tressa began, the effects of the mead starting to impact her slowly growing constitution "we need to get to know each other better! So, Alfyn, what's your greatest treasure?"

"Puttin' me in the spotlight there."

The apothecary brought his hand to his chin in thought, pondering on the sudden question studiously. He hummed patiently, waiting for an answer to come to him. When it did, Alfyn made a victorious sound and snapped his fingers.

"Got it! I'd say this bag right here."

From below the table, Alfyn produced his apothecary bag that he had received from his friend, Zeph, earlier that day. Even now, knowing that his childhood friend and fellow apothecary held his own bag with him, brought a sense of pride to Alfyn's heart. Though they were still in the same village, being on this journey already made them feel as if they were miles apart.

"That's Zeph's bag, isn't it?" Ophilia questioned.

"That it is. Only had it for a day, but I know it's already my most important possession," Alfyn confirmed, chuckling. "Heck, maybe it's even more important than my own bag. Who knows what he hid in here."

His eyes softened. "After my parents died, Zeph helped me a lot. When _I_ almost died, we vowed to become apothecaries. Just like him, the man who saved me." Determination replaced his mild expression. "It's my turn to go into the world and help those that need it."

Ophilia stared at the young man in awe, impressed by his resolve to help those in need as long as it was in his power. Venturing out into the world like they were was no small task; to do so to help those he didn't know was even grander. An unknown tug at the cleric's heart prompted her to smile and admire the apothecary with a fondness she could not place a finger on.

"I think that's amazing. You truly care for those you can care for, I believe there is nothing more noble than such a cause," Ophilia complimented, cheeks turning a light shade of red, catching Primrose's eye. Before the dancer could read anymore into the sudden change in demeanor, the cleric took a drink of her mead.

Alfyn rubbed the back of his head, feeling a sensation he had felt numerous times before. "Ah geez… thanks, Ophilia. Means a lot. Just, um… careful when complimentin' me too much, okay?"

Even more curious about the sudden shift of the conversation, Tressa interrupted. "What'd ya mean by that?"

"It's nothin'," the apothecary chuckled uneasily. "I just get an… uneasy sensation sometimes when people compliment me too often."

"Okay...?" the merchant dragged out, the group a little perplexed at Alfyn's meaning behind his words. Choosing to forgo pressing the issues, Tressa pointed towards Primrose. "On to the next one. Primrose?"

"My treasure?" she questioned as she was brought out of watching her fellow companions.

"Uh-huh!"

"Oh, that's easy, my dear," Primrose cooed happily. From behind her she produced the dagger she often used in combat, placing it on the table triumphantly. "This is my sole treasure."

Her companions hovered their heads over the weapon, studying it. Curving from the hilt, a crescent blade promised a deadly encounter with any who faced this beautiful weapon. The handle itself was made of an exotic red wood that Tressa could not place, with guard and pommel made of pain-stakingly, hand-carved gold. Inscribed on the handle was the phrase 'Faith shall be my shield.' Without any further explanation, the three companions knew this was an exquisite treasure to behold.

"Wow! It's so beautiful! You know, in a stabby-stabby kind of way," Tressa remarked, earning a round of chuckles from the group. "What are the words on the handle?"

"That is House Azelhart's family motto. Faith shall be my shield," Primrose recited. "I live by those words to this day. For now, though," the dancer procured the dagger, tucking it away for the time being with a reassuring grin "I believe my family's history can wait."

Sensing that Primrose did not wish to talk about her past any longer, Tressa shrugged her shoulders. "That's okay, but I think your dagger is winning right now, Primrose."

"What do I get if I win?" she purred.

"Another drink!" the merchant replied with flourish.

"Oh, I do like the sound of that."

"Shucks, I coulda had another mead," Alfyn complained forlornly.

"Should have asked for the stakes, newcomer!" Tressa playfully replied. "But there's still a chance that our resident cleric will pull out a win from nowhere. Take it away, Ophilia!"

"M-me?" she responded off-guard. "I don't have much, to be honest. Most of my treasured possessions I left behind at the Church in Flamesgrace. Not much is allowed on my pilgrimage. But, if I had to say something I have with me is my treasure, it would be this."

Unclasping her hood, the cleric removed the garment, revealing her slender shoulders clothed by her robe. She placed the hood on her lap, taking the golden trinket that held the article of clothing together and placing it on the table. It was cast gold, less pure than the dagger Primrose had, yet more pure than what would normally be found in a market setting. Shaped much like a closed horse's hoof, it seemed a modest treasure to most eyes. Those who traveled with Ophilia, however, suspected it held a special place in her heart.

"It was the last gift my mother gave me, used to secure the cloak she sheltered me in when she left me to run in a snowy forest," Ophilia admitted, a solemn air clouding her presence. "Though it may not look like much, that brooch has sentimental value to me. I carry it with me wherever I go, thinking that my true parents are with me in spirit, protecting me."

She smiled forlornly. "It's a sad memory, but to think that my family is still with me as I journey on this pilgrimage brings me solace when I need it most."

Her companions were at a loss for words. Alfyn watched the cleric with wide eyes, unable to break the spell she put on him. On one hand, even though it was a sad memory she spoke of, the smile was a testament to her faith and strength. On the other, the smile made him want to protect her as best as he could, even if she believed she didn't need it – perhaps, Alfyn needed it, he was unsure. Whichever way he looked at, the apothecary couldn't help but think she deserved to smile all the time, through good times and bad.

While he was thinking to himself, Primrose stole a glance at the apothecary, noticing the similar red blush that encompassed Ophilia's cheeks only moments earlier. Smirking, the dancer knew what was happening here. Of course, she would not intervene, but she would watch as a spectator, eager to see where such an idea may lead to in the near future.

 _What possibilities could this little traipse produce?_ she thought with a giggle.

The ringing sound brought Tressa out of her reverie. Shaking her head, she exclaimed, "That's amazing, Ophilia! I think you win this round."

"What? Really?" the cleric replied unbelievingly. "Not Primrose's dagger?"

"My treasure may be as sentimental as yours, my dear, but the empathetic emotion it brings from you overshadows mine. After all, you shared your story of it, I did not," Primrose replied smoothly before finishing off her drink. "Besides, I believe I do not need another one."

"Oh. Well, I could use another one," Ophilia requested timidly. "It's so sweet, I couldn't help but finish mine quickly."

Snapping out of his own thoughts, Alfyn gladly offered, "Then why don't I buy you a drink? I could use another one myself!"

"You don't mind?"

"'Course not. 'Sides, Tressa never said who would buy the victor's drink."

"Hey, shouldn't I be buying…"

The merchant was cut off by a light nudge from the dancer. Earning a quick glance from Primrose, Tressa understood (partially) what she meant.

"I mean, if I get to save some leaves, all the better. Go ahead, Alfyn!"

"Thanks, Tressa. Come on, let's go get some more mead."

The apothecary and cleric stood from their seats, walking over to the bar to place their order. All the while, Primrose watched them keenly, a glint of interest in her eyes. From the way that Ophilia hid her laughter and Alfyn energetically talked, the dancer couldn't help but feel there was something there that the pair did not see.

"Say, why did you want Alfyn to buy the drink for Ophilia?" Tressa questioned. "I should've bought the winner a drink."

"Shh, my dear. You will see in due time," Primrose answered cryptically, still watching her companions unintentionally flirt with the other.

Following the dancer's eyes, the merchant vaguely understood her meaning. "Oh! You think…?"

"Did Ophilia ever mention if Teller said this would be a romantic tale?" Primrose interrupted once again.

Tressa made an uncertain sound and shrugged her shoulders before returning to her own drink.

"Then it may well be. Mayhaps we wait for them to return then, hm?" the dancer concluded, turning back to the merchant. "Besides, we did say we would wait for Cyrus and Olberic to return from their training-study session, wouldn't we?"

Tressa gladly answered, "Okay! Then we can talk between ourselves. There's so much I wanna ask you about the Sunlands!"

"And I you about the Coastlands."

The night lingered on slowly, allowing plenty of conversation to flow between the companions. Alfyn and Ophilia stayed firmly by the bar the rest of the night, enjoying the words exchanged between the other. Without want to leave, they spoke freely, unknowingly progressing the tale Teller had planned long beforehand.

Somewhere, the prolific bard smirked, sensing a bond stronger than most would ever have forming between a certain apothecary and cleric.

* * *

 _ **To look out for oneself is human; to care for others without want for anything in return is beyond that.**_

 _ **So did Ophilia realize that when she met Clearbrook's apothecary, Alfyn.**_

 _ **Mayhaps they would form a bond that would exceed beyond companionship, yet for now they simply were happy to continue Teller's tale.**_

 _ **Onwards they went, this group of adventurers, nearly complete in numbers, towards the Cliftlands to discover who would accompany them next.**_

 _ **Never would they guess the skilled, young man they would meet…**_


	7. Tale Seven

**Tale Seven, Therion**

* * *

Weaving in and out of the crowd in the cramped tavern in Bolderfall's commoner district was a distinct thief in a purple shawl carrying a flagon of ale. Simple, hearty, a little watered down, perfect for the so-called 'riff-raff' of the lowest level in the Cliftland city. Much like the social structures of most societies in Orsterra, Bolderfall, in its layered districts of upper-, middle-, and lower-classes, was a visual representation of this hierarchy. It suited this thief, Therion, just fine, allowing him to know where to find information and whom to steal from in an almost clerical fashion.

His nimble fingers, unable to keep still, seemed to work their magic on the more despot denizens of Bolderfall. Though Bolderfall's levels made it known who was worth stealing from, never did the thief believe that the victim's role in thievery should be left to the upper class. That was an unconventional and, some would say, prejudiced way of thinking that was frowned upon in a thief's progressive world.

All the while, three of the six people who had helped him infiltrate Ravus Manor watched with earnest interest, the remaining three travelers who found Therion's profession unjust having retired for the night already. Even with the fool's bangle firmly clasped on his wrist, the thief was met with no trouble sneaking his hands into the pockets of the unsuspecting patron or perturbed drunk, relieving them of the leaves that weighed down their pockets.

"Quite the deft fingers he has, no?" Primrose purred appraisingly, watching the thief more intently than her fellows. "Could prove useful."

"Seems like a good 'nough guy, but I kinda question his reasons," Alfyn admitted, rubbing the back of his head before chuckling. "Then 'gain, is it really my place to judge?"

Cyrus, meanwhile, studiously examined their newest companion over his drink. "Hm… do you not also believe he has a keenness for watching and learning about his query? Why, if I did not know the man, I would say Therion could have been a prodigy of the academy."

"What makes you say that, Professor Albright?" Alfyn inquired.

"It's in his eyes. Calculating and sharp, like a predator ready to pounce. His skills are what sets him apart from the rest, however," Primrose smirked. "Quite the thief we have found."

"My dear, I believe that is admiration I hear," Cyrus intoned, smirking his own coy smirk.

"Can a woman not watch a man so?"

"Not without any underlying intent."

Playing down the professor's insinuation, Primrose's cheeks were not immune to the hint of pink that warmed her face. "Calm now, Professor. Appraise first, we shall see what comes from that."

"Now you two've lost me," Alfyn mumbled dejectedly.

Before either Cyrus or Primrose could explain, Therion had arrived at their table, flipping one of the coins he purloined between his fingers before ultimately tossing it to Alfyn. "There you go, Doc."

The apothecary, for his part, caught the coin and smiled, subconsciously pocketing the leaf without a thought as to where Therion had found it. "There's the man of the hour! Took ya long enough to get back over here, though."

The thief shrugged as he sat down. "Business is business, and in taverns business is always booming. Whether its information or leaves, there's plenty to be stolen without anyone noticing."

"How perceptive of you, Therion," Cyrus commented evenly.

"Have to be when you're in my line of work, Teach. Comes with the territory."

"I would assume so. With your perception and obvious knack for learning as you practice, you may make an excellent student of mine."

Therion chuckled before sipping his ale. "If you can keep me sitting for more than five minutes, I'll play along."

The scholar made a sound of satisfaction. "Easily done." Without a second thought, Cyrus flexed his fingers, allowing miniature icicles to form around his hand. "Simply rooting your feet with some ice should absolve us of your tendency to disappear."

For a brief second, the thief stared at the professor before chuckling. "You really are an odd one, Teach. Think I will sit in on one of your classes. Who knows? Maybe I'll hear of a dungeon or something to sack."

Cyrus sighed, beaten at the word game by a simple threat. "In that case, perhaps I will forgo taking you on as one of my students."

"Wise words."

All while this conversation was happening, Primrose was examining the young man before her, trying to figure out what lay locked away behind his green eyes that were deceptively shimmering like emeralds. She smirked, keenly interested by the mysterious figure in front of her.

"Something in my hair, Twinkle Toes?"

It seemed her examination had not gone unnoticed.

She smoothly replied. "No, just trying to discover the man behind the thief. Nothing more."

"You'll have to do a little more digging than that. There's lot to be uncovered there, and I'm not in the mood for sharing."

"At this moment?"

"Ever."

Primrose pouted, resting her cheek in her hand as her other hand's finger played with the rim of her mug. "No fun."

"Not here to share, Twinkle Toes," Therion explained before taking a swig of his mug. "Here for business."

Aiming to take another drink of his ale, the thief was interrupted as Alfyn threw his arm around Therion's shoulder, causing him to spill some of his mug's contents.

"Aw, shucks, Therion, you don't mean that!"

"Think I do," he replied curtly, breaking from the apothecary's one-armed hug.

"Not when there's more alcohol involved, I think."

A twitch of Therion's lips gave away all Primrose needed to know. He tried to hide it by finishing off the remainder of his mug, but the dancer saw it all too quickly. "You think that's how it'll work, suit yourself. I'm a man of simple tastes after all."

"And an even simpler constitution, mayhaps?" Primrose chimed playfully, fingers interlaced.

"Is that a jab at my size…?"

Before Therion received an answer, Alfyn stole the thief's mug – ironically – and everyone else's before trudging up to the barkeep to procure another round of drinks. At this point, Therion was able to start painting the picture of the woman next to him.

She was pretty, he'd give her that, but there was something more behind her brown eyes and apart from the revealing, red dancer's outfit she wore. Her mind was a puzzle, he realized, and it was analyzing him as much as he was analyzing it. Like a snake playing a lizard, Primrose's and Therion's dance of wits was to be put to the test as the other searched for the reasons behind their actions.

Therion wasn't much for dancing, but he had been known to be light on his feet.

Nodding his head towards his newfound rival, the thief only received a knowing giggle in response from the dancer.

"Remember, Twinkle Toes, dancing and constitution go both ways," Therion commented.

"Then we shall see who has the best of both, hm?" she rejoindered mischievously.

"You're on."

"A challenge, hm? Might I be the judge?" Cyrus interceded, intrigued by his companions' mannerisms and innuendos in their hidden meanings.

"We would be honored, Professor," Primrose agreed, not turning away from Therion.

Just as Alfyn appeared with their drinks, the thief quickly swiped his mug from the apothecary. Startled by the sudden theft, the blond man handed out the drinks to his remaining companions before sitting down and exclaiming all the while, "Whoa! Did I miss somethin' here?"

Keeping his eyes locked with the dancer, Therion replied, "Just a friendly competition. That's all."

"Competition? Like back in Clearbrook? I want in!"

"This is between them and them alone, I am afraid," Cyrus chimed. His eyes were eagerly locked on the word duel about to take place before them. "A battle of wits and words, it would seem. I am eager to see the results."

"By the end of this we will have all of Therion's secrets, you have my word," the dancer said with a deceivingly sweet tone. "Shall we begin?"

Removing his scarf and placing it on the table gently, Therion took a swash of his ale. "It's already started."

Having watched his actions carefully like a snake, Primrose smirked knowingly. "Then I shall make the first step. You don't mind a woman taking the lead?"

"Go right ahead."

"Well, Therion, the way you handled that scarf says a lot about the way you view that particular article of clothing," Primrose began. "Did it belong to someone cherished? Or someone you wish to see dead, and this is your final token to them, as if it were the last vengeful words spoken at a rival's funeral? Do not deny my words, your actions will speak the answer."

Mouth now visible to his companions, they could see the clear smirk that hid a direct answer. "Impressive, should've known you would see that. But like you said, I won't answer."

"Yet you take care of that, or those, who are precious to you, yes? Under your brusque nature, I sense someone wishing for friends."

His face became dour at Primrose's insinuation. Therion only replied, "My turn. Drink."

"Gladly."

Following her answer, the dancer slowly, yet patiently, sipped from her ale, falling back into the persona of a dancer. Truly a snake, coiling her body and preparing her fangs. Patiently tempting her prey and waiting to strike. Where she was a snake, Therion was a lizard: light on his feet, ready to retaliate if needed. Which was his plan now.

"The way you fight with your dagger is carefully thought out. Makes me think that weapon means something more than you let on."

The dancer's expression subtly lost a bit of its mirth, something many would not catch. But the keen eyes of a lizard could even catch the movement of a fly. So too could Therion pinpoint the little nuances of a person's shifting emotions in their face.

"Right on the mark. Peanut gallery, am I on the mark?"

"Quite so," Cyrus answered quickly, filling in the brief silence where Alfyn was still deciding if it was his information to share.

Therion chuckled victoriously. "Thought so. Parent's heirloom?"

"Watch carefully where you tread, _thief_." Primrose's tone shifted venomously, making her emotions clearer to the world.

Raising his hands placatingly, Therion relented. "Then I shall, Twinkle Toes."

Tense silence hung over the table. Stares, like daggers, bore their way into the opposing party. Everything seemed to tense up at the moment, causing an unease between the apothecary and scholar, who traded glances with each other, wondering what they should do. Where Cyrus' eyes spoke of patience, Alfyn's wished for action to end the ensuing argument before it began. Yet they were mistaken in their thoughts, for this was where the dancer and thief felt most alive.

Neither had felt this way in quite some time.

Alfyn made to break the argument, ignoring Cyrus's silent warning. "Um, guys… I think we should, ya know, drop this? Let bygones be bygones?"

His words went unheeded for quite some time. If his nervous chuckling indicated anything, the apothecary knew that he was being ignored. Making to speak again, he was immediately silenced as he heard a strange sound familiar to his ears only after traveling with Primrose for such a short length of time.

She was giggling, almost purring, and it was in mirth.

Hearing this sound, Alfyn and Cyrus couldn't help by skeptically eye the dancer to see if she had gone mad. But, judging by her pleased complexion, she had not.

Not long after, they could hear quiet chuckling from Therion, who shared the same expression as his opponent. They reveled in their laughter, enjoying the game they had just played it would seem.

"You are a skilled rival, Therion," Primrose commented jovially. "One I have not met in quite some time. Your ability to read a person is almost on par with mine."

"Stole the words right out of my mouth. Doing that to a skilled thief is about as hard as stealing from a heavily-guarded carriage," the thief agreed. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy either challenge."

"A toast to that."

The thief and dancer brought their mugs together amicably, finishing their drinks in their own manners.

"A draw, then?" Primrose affirmed.

"For now, Twinkle Toes. I have my sight on you, so don't think you'll be able to pull the wool over my eyes again."

Smirking ruefully, Primrose commented, "My dear Therion, do you not know that a dancer performs best when all eyes are on her?"

Mirroring her lips with his own, the thief rejoindered, "And a thief is at his best when watching his mark."

A challenge lain and met would be carried out through the travelers' journeys across Orsterra. Many times would this duo play with each other in such a way. Between Cyrus, the scholar, and Alfyn, the apothecary, this fact would be glossed over by both of them. So, that night, seeing that things had worked themselves out in their own confusing way, they continued drinking and slowly brought their companions back into the fold of their conversation.

Gladly they joined, as, for once, Therion was eager to speak with someone again.

* * *

 _ **The thief, Therion, was a man scarred by his experience with befriending people, yet it would seem he had taken a step in relearning how to welcome them in that night.**_

 _ **Slowly, but surely, this group of travelers would bring the seventh member of their group out of his shell.**_

 _ **But, for now, he was happy to sate his curiosity on a certain dancer, uncharacteristically hoping he would receive a similar chance in the near future.**_

 _ **From here, in the Cliftlands, would the travelers embark to fulfill Teller's prediction and discover the eighth, and final, member of this fledgling band of vagabonds…**_


	8. Tale Eight

**Tale Eight, H'aanit**

* * *

Within the Darkwood, any sound indicating civilization was lost to the towering trees that shelter the Woodland from the sun. These pines, teeming with beasts ranging from the most mundane to the exceedingly rare, shelter this land from the imposing forces of humanity. Even those who live within the wood tend to follow the old ways of hunters, living in small villages where the meekest utterances of society reverberate without echoing from the trees. Though, when approaching one of these villages, few will be privy to sounds of a babbling brook with the hunters living in peace beside their animal companions. Celebrations, drink, bountiful food and furs would greet the visitor after a glorious hunt. Such a time was occurring now, as the dull murmurs of travelers and the thumping of music flowed from the village of S'warkii's tavern.

Inside, the huntress H'aanit, her leopard companion Linde, and her master's faithful wolf Hagen sat around the sole fireplace of the tavern with three of their new companions. They soaked in the warmth, while enjoying their spiced hard cider.

"'Tis not oft we receiven visitors," the huntress began after partaking in her drink. "Moreso when said visitors wouldst aiden a hunter in a hunt. I thanken thee."

H'aanit bowed her head shortly in thanks, while Linda and Hagen gave a soft glance akin to gratitude.

"Of course, H'aanit, we were glad to help," Ophilia replied, a gentle smile highlighting her features.

"A fellow warrior was in need – still is in need. Never would I turn away from someone who would follow a path such as yours and requests aid," Olberic added in, raising his mug to the huntress.

"Besides, those ruins had few secret stashes to scour through," Therion commented, smirking underneath his scarf.

"Thou wouldst beholden to return such relics to the wood," H'aanit chastised for the umpteenth time that day, unpleased by the thief's actions.

"No one's using them, even Feather thought it was a good idea, Wildling."

"And why the names?"

"It's how I am with everyone. Makes it easier to remember all of you," Therion answered, poking his temple lightly. He pointed to Olberic and Ophilia. "Even got names for these two: Mountain and Saint."

The warrior sighed. "It's true, though I fear I am not as big of a mountain as you say I am."

"Oh, come on. You are built like one, your demeanor is like one, and you have the strength to stand up to anything I can think of." Therion listed each trait on his fingers as he spoke. "You _are_ a mountain."

"I have to agree, Sir Olberic," Ophilia affirmed, still referring to the warrior by title. "You are quite strong."

"That may be, but to resort to such paltry nicknames?" the warrior questioned.

"I musten agree with our companions," H'aanit chimed in, a small smile on her face and blush indicating she had finished her mug of cider. "Thou ist a strong man, claime as such, warrior. Baren it proudly!"

Olberic sighed. "At this juncture, it seems I have no choice."

"Comen now, thou art one of the strongest men I haven met. 'Tis a grande name for an equally grande man," H'aanit affirmed before standing up to fetch another drink for her and the warrior, taking his mug with her.

Though chalking it up to drunk ramblings, Olberic could not help but watch after the huntress as she confidently – though swaying slightly – walked up to the barkeep. The alcohol was beginning to take effect, expounding upon the two drinks she had already consumed. Even then, the warrior couldn't help but smile at her words, accepting the praise where he wouldn't from his other companions.

An audible growl broke him from his wonderings.

Olberic turned his gaze to Linde, who was staring threateningly at him, baring her teeth. Beside her, the wolf, Hagen, appeared to have an amused look, almost seeming like he was smirking. In turn, the warrior stared down the leopard, seeing a challenge in her eyes. What said challenge was about, he did not know.

"Looks like someone's jealous," Therion snickered. "Careful, Mountain, you may have angered the cat."

The thief's laughter was cut short as Ophilia gently smacked his shoulder. "Come now, Therion. Do not joke about these things so openly."

While she chastised her companion, both of them knew that she was just as curious about Olberic's glances as Therion was. Ophilia seemed to not have any keen interest in the relationship of others in this manner, yet when she drank, her curiosity would get the best of her. As of now, said curiosity was starting to swell up inside of her, though she could contain it for the time being. Enough so to put an end to Therion's teasing.

"Whatever you mean, I feel it was a jab at my demeanor," Olberic commented scrupulously. "However, that is not my intention, I was just pleased with her words."

"And having the chance to stare at her backside," the thief added in between another snicker before breaking into full laughter, almost causing him to fall out of his chair and lose his third drink in the fireplace.

This time, Ophilia flicked the thief's temple, again trying to calm him down.

Recoiling at the strike, Therion held up his hands, hoping to stave off the onslaught from the cleric. "Ow! Okay, okay! I stopped laughing."

Relenting, Ophilia huffed, "You know, you can be quite crude after you have had your share of drink, Therion."

Recovering, the thief replied, "Now, now, Saint, that can be most men. Hells, I'm sure even Doc can get like this if you give him enough mead."

At the insinuation, Ophilia blanched before her cheeks were alit like a fire. Quickly moving to cover her face, the cleric began shaking her head, trying to get Therion's words out of her head.

"D-don't say such things!"

"What? Can't besmirch the good name of your Sir Apothecary, can I?" Therion smirked before taking a victory drink of his cider.

"That's n-not it!" Ophilia squirmed.

"What ist going on here?" H'aanit inquired of Olberic as she took her seat by the fire once more.

"I am unsure myself. Thank you," the warrior replied as he was handed his second mug of cider, forgoing drinking too much for the time being. "If Lady Primrose or Professor Albright were here, and not looking at the flora in the forest with the others, I am sure they could provide us insight."

"That they could. Mayhaps later."

The huntress raised her glass to the warrior. He blinked, before seeing the offer of companionship and smiling. As they would many times in the near future, H'aanit and Olberic clinked their mugs together, drinking the spiced cider greedily while their fellows argued amongst each other: Therion teasing and Ophilia scrambling to refute.

As the group settled not much later, they heard the door swing open with a sudden bang, garnering the attention of every patron at the tavern.

It did not take long for the affronting patron to walk in through the threshold, and when he did, Ophilia gasped.

She knew this man, from his hefty build to his stomping leather boots. While he wore an unreadable, near-threatening expression covered by a grand beard, the air around him was anything but hostile. As he had in Flamesgrace, he garnered the attention of everyone in the tavern. Thankfully, the cleric noticed, he had forgone jumping through one of the windows, as he had in Atlasdam according to Cyrus. Eyes following his movements, some showed hints of recognition, including the barkeep, who produced a bottle of ale twice the size of a pint for him. In response, the man placed a fistful of leaves on the bar and mumbled something to the smiling barkeep.

Teller then turned around, searching expectantly for someone. Based off of his prolific ways, Ophilia had a feeling she knew who he was scanning the room for. Shortly after, her suspicions were confirmed as she saw the man's eyes light up and the atmosphere around him sprinkled with hints of intrigue. He walked over to the four companions.

"Who's that old geezer, and why is coming towards us like we're friends or something?" Therion commented to no one in particular, cautiously sizing up the man as he approached them.

Ophilia, not taking her eyes off of the bard, responded. "That's Teller, the bard."

"That guy is this so-called seer you've been talking about?" the thief questioned in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Ah, this is Teller. I know of this man. Those in Cobbleston have spoken of him many times, but they simply called him Bard," Olberic added, thinking on the villagers' descriptions of the man. "That is most definitely him. A fortune teller from what words I have heard."

It was then that the man had taken the last remaining seat next to the fireplace, in between H'aanit and Olberic.

Before speaking, his lips met with those of his bottle of ale. Drinking the contents to the neck, he released the drink and let loose a loud, satisfied sigh. "A tale cannot begin without good drink, nor such an entrance. Aye, Miss Ophilia?"

Chuckling at the greeting so reminiscent of their first, the cleric nodded her head. "That it can't. A pleasure to see you again, Teller."

"Same to you, miss. Same to you. Ah!"

Just then, the bard and traveling companions noticed the wolf, Hagen, nudging Teller's hand, licking it interminably. "Hagen, 's that you? Why, it is the little pup! Where is your master, hm? He owes me quite the drink after our last meetin'."

Despite his missing master, Hagen barked happily, glad to see a familiar face from outside of S'warkii. All while the bard was playing with the wolf and spoiling him some drops of ale, H'aanit watched, confusion clearly etched on her face.

"Thou knowest, Master?" the huntress inquired, excitement coursing through her at the thought. "Wouldst thou knowest where he ist!?"

His attention turning away from Hagen, the mirth around them seemed to disappear as Teller gave the wolf one last rub behind his ears. "Nay, young H'aanit. I do not. Though, I have an inkling, 'tis not my place to say. 'S not my part in the tale to tell."

"But, why not?" she questioned quietly, a soft anger building inside of her, echoed by Linde's quieter growling.

"I am a bard, mighty huntress. I tell stories after they have been told by those involved. Though some call me a prophet, I cannot change the stories that are to be spun. My apologies."

Humming to herself, trying to calm her inner fire, H'aanit then sighed, letting loose her pint up emotions. "I… understand. 'Tis not thoust place to tellen his whereabouts. Duty, then?"

"Aye, one could say that."

"Then, I shallst honor it."

"My thanks. Now, then. Who is next?"

Turning his attention, and his attitude around in a matter of seconds, Teller scanned the man sitting to his left.

"Ah, a mighty warrior. You've the shape, the air, the garb. Mind me, are you a knight of Hornburg?"

The warrior was taken aback by his guess. "That I am. You know of Hornburg?"

Teller seemed to cackle in amusement. "That I do, then you must be Sir Olberic, the Unbending Blade I tell so many tales about."

"My deeds are not so grand to be passed down in legend," Olberic responded uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck.

"But they are, though to avoid embarrassment, I digress. Not much time is had, so on to our last."

Again, the bard turned his attention away from Olberic to Therion, who still eyed him scrupulously. "Oh, such mistrust in those eyes. May I ask your name?"

"Therion," he replied evenly.

"Not Therion the legendary thief who is neigh uncatchable?" Teller took notice of the fool's bangle. "'Til now, 'twould seem."

Therion's squinting eyes were enough to tell the bard he had hit a sore spot. "Not for long, old geezer."

"Hidin' behind nicknames, as well? My, the stories you must have to tell!"

"Watch it."

"That I shall," Teller relented happily. "Strong, capable companions for an equally strong, capable woman. You have found the rest, Miss Ophilia?"

Ophilia, watching the interactions intently, grinned. "That they are, and that I have, Teller."

"Ah, yes. The scholar, the merchant, the dancer, and the apothecary. Excellent," Teller listed off knowingly, giving him the air of the seer that many saw him as. He took a drink from his bottle. "Take care of that kindling relationship with the apothecary."

Unlike Therion's insinuations, Teller's only caused a light blush to rise to Ophilia's cheeks and warmth to spread from her heart. "I will."

Therion grinned cheekily. "Knew it."

"And you watch your words with the dancer, she has as sharp a tongue as her family dagger and her history," Teller retorted playfully, coming to the defense of the cleric. "Be mindful of her, Mister Therion. She may have a rough outside, but inside, she hurts."

Though being played against, the thief's eyes softened, seemingly understanding and feeling a connection to Teller's meaning. All that indicated he had heeded those words was a sound of affirmation.

The bard, in turn nodded. "All of you have a story to tell, and a place in each other's stories. Your tales will shape Orsterra in more ways than you can imagine. Remember your tales as you move through them, where they begin and where they end. For as you move through them, they become just that: tales. Legends. The past. When you're living your tales, you don't know they are such. Enjoy them, my friends."

Appearing out of nowhere and seemingly leaving soon after must have been a part of Teller's persona, Ophilia realized. For no longer had he settled in, greeting Hagen, then did he rise from his chair, finishing his drink with a might gulp. Just as the bard had when the cleric met him in Flamesgrace. He rubbed his forearm past his beard, ridding it of any remaining drink clinging to his whiskers.

"For now, I must be off. Other matters call me, 'm sure ye all understand, aye?" Teller explained with a wink. "Fare thee well, friends. We'll meet in the near future, and I hope yer journeys are as I predicted. After all, I've still yer tales to tell."

"You're just going to up and leave, then?" Therion questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye. It's my way o' things, Mister Therion. Travel well with each other. 'Til next we meet."

Leaving his words of wisdom with the group, Teller made for the door, nodding to the barkeep, who returned it. Ophilia knew what was to come next. Quickly, the barkeep and his small staff passed out the drinks that Teller had graciously paid for, replacing the empty mugs the traveling companions held in their hands.

"Free drinks? Old Geezer's not half bad," Therion commented happily.

"A generous man. But how he knowst master, I cannot say," H'aanit chimed in thoughtfully. "Hagen, hath you any words to speaketh?"

In response, the wolf laid back down, unable to answer the huntress.

"Seems not."

"That man is a mystery," Olberic pondered. "As you have said Ophilia, he is quite the character. Almost prophetic, a seer. He raises more questions than answers. Should we be wary of such a man that seems to know our futures?"

Ophilia shook her head. "I believe he has the best of intentions for us. He is a guide. His words led me to all of you, so for now, I trust what he has to say."

"Trustful words. I hope they art such," their newest companion spoke.

"We shall see," Therion mused, thoughts still on the bard's words pertaining to him.

"Aye," Olberic agreed thoughtfully.

The cleric nodded before raising her mug. "For now, I believe he is a friend. It is for that reason this next drink is for Teller."

"Here, here!"

The companions rose their mugs together in friendship, moving their relationships forward, just as Teller had wished for them.

Mysterious circumstances could bring the most unlikely of companions together. However, sometimes, it was such circumstances that need be met to forge such necessary bonds. Now, as all eight companions had finally come together, they would move forward as friends. Destinies intertwined, the four companions in the tavern, as well as those wandering the Darkwood, would share tales of themselves from this journey and their past ventures.

All would be told around the fires of a foreign hearth and warmth of a friendly drink.

* * *

 _ **Finally had all the companions met, forging quickly bonds that would evolve into something more than fellow travelers.**_

 _ **The huntress, H'aanit, and her animal companions brought with them another adventure to search for her lost master.**_

 _ **Another weight added to the shoulders of these adventurers, but another shoulder to share the weight.**_

 _ **Yet these journeys would help them discover more about themselves than they could ever say, with the help of their fellows – no, their friends.**_

 _ **Orsterra would bare witness to their exploits, and hold legends of such for years to come.**_

 _ **And it all started with a young cleric, a chalice of mulled wine, and some company provided by a certain bard.**_

 _ **Now together, we can begin the legendary tale of the Octopath Travelers…**_

… _ **from tavern to tavern…**_

 _ **~ Teller ~**_


	9. Interlude, Teller

_**My, my, my, but you are a captive audience.**_

 _ **Rapt attention, wonderings of the future, and I swore I saw a glint in your eye when I spoke of that one couple, hm? Yes, that one. A secret lover of romance, yes? Do not deny it, I can tell from your emotions that is the truth.**_

 _ **Of course, I cannot say whether these couples, or the Travelers themselves, will live up to your expectations. You have heard the story of their adventures, so they will make it through their quests. Yet what of their bonds? Whereas our previous venture glosses over such relationships, what happens to them can only be found within this tale.**_

 _ **Now do not doze or tally off, for where this tale of the taverns takes place next well showcase the interactions between our favored Travelers. You wish for me to speak of those two, do you not? Or just the one Traveler's progression of their character? Sometimes it is difficult to tell with you, my friend.**_

 _ **Such a troublesome listener I have garnered the attention of. For no cost, mind you. Though, if you are willing to part with a mead to warm me on this chilled night, I would not mind.**_

…

 _ **Not even a honeyed liquor to wet my parched throat and dried tongue?**_

…

 _ **As captive as you are frugal. Wise, for you cannot tell if my personal tale, which I tell willingly, will live up to your expectations. Though I have your attention now, mayhaps I will not in the following chapter. But I can assure you, we will come to that one's interaction you so desire to bear witness to.**_

 _ **Oh, but now you are wondering how I know?**_

 _ **That glint in your eyes, a view of how you see what you listen to. You cannot hide emotions from me, a bard always knows his audience.**_

…

 _ **And the tale as well, of course.**_

 _ **Whatever the reason may be to which you stay in my presence, adhering to the underlying teachings of these separate stories, I believe I have garnered your favor. An attentive audience is much of what a bard desires when relaying such legends.**_

…

 _ **Do not mishear me, for these tales will be free of charge, but the next? You may not be so lucky. Remember, even a bard must eat and drink, find shelter from the fiery sun and icy moon.**_

 _ **So, yes, a bard wants for the leaves and the rapt attention. For now, your following my words will serve as recompense. After all, I cannot really garner much coin from one audience member, can I?**_

 _ **Of course, I jest. This is where I can showcase my talent for the craft of storytelling, where I began my journey. Where my words and tales took on lives of their own as I recalled them for the masses with their ales and individuals on the streets.**_

 _ **It is here I practice my craft, so I eagerly share my tales to all who wish to hear. Even if it is just one person intrigued in the recounting of a much grander work.**_

 _ **Yet those are the nights when my craft truly shines. Never will I turn such evenings away.**_

 _ **So, we shall venture forth, to when the Octopath Travelers continued their journey through the far reaches of Orsterra…**_


	10. Tale Nine

**Tale Nine, a Master of Magic and a Dance of Thoughts**

* * *

"Ophilia! We need your help!"

The words brought the cleric and Cyrus out of their conversation as the door burst open into one of the two small inn rooms the travelers had rented out for the night in Stillsnow. Upon hearing the rushing of feet, and seeing Alfyn carrying what appeared to be an injured Tressa, Ophilia shot up into action. Holding her in his arms bridal style, the apothecary sat the merchant down on the bed Ophilia had been sitting on.

"Alfyn? What's wrong?" Ophilia questioned as he laid Tressa out on the bed.

"Got a nasty cut on her inner thigh. Ain't infected, wrapped some bandages 'round it, but it's still bleedin' somethin' fierce!" Alfyn hurriedly explained as he slowly pulled up Tressa's skirt to reveal the wound.

Just as the apothecary had said, the bandage was soaked with the merchant's blood. Skin as white as snow could have told anyone that. Sensing his unease at lifting up the young woman's clothing, Ophilia switched places with him. With skilled hands, the cleric unwrapped the bandage, staining her hand even before she fully unveiled the wound. Small, yet deep, this wound would quickly drain Tressa of blood like a vampire if not treated properly.

Knowing she need to act, as well as keep Alfyn's hands busy, the cleric gestured towards the corner of the room. "Alfyn, can you get my staff for me?"

"On it!"

The apothecary hurriedly brought the item to the cleric. It was then that she was able to begin properly treating the wound. Staff a conduit, light gathered around Ophilia like lightning, pouring into the hand she had just inches above Tressa's wound. The merchant's breathing hitched as she felt the new sensation course through her body. Warming and familiar, the light calmed the cleric's patient as quickly as it startled her. If Alfyn and Cyrus weren't watching the act unfold, they would have seen a small smile form on the unconscious woman's face.

As the glowing from Ophilia's hands rose to a blinding shine, the cleric softly commanded, "Let your wounds be healed."

The light engulfed the wound, pouring itself into. Able to see once again, Alfyn and Cyrus's gaze turned again to Tressa. Even though they had been healed by the cleric themselves numerous times, they were always astounded when they saw her work had paid off. Where the wound once was now there was just skin, sealed up by Ophilia's holy light.

Softly smiling, Ophilia stood from Tressa's bedside. "There we go. Tressa should be okay now."

"Wow! Every time I see that, I'm impressed. Nice work, Ophilia!" Alfyn appraised with his usual grin.

Mildly blushing, the cleric waved off the compliment. "I am always happy to help. Those who are wounded, I will heal."

"Whoa…"

The apothecary was stunned into silence, as he had found himself doing more often as of late. His eyes couldn't tear away from the innocent smile and honorable words.

"But I believe it is best we leave now. After all, we need to let Tressa rest."

The cleric ushered her companions out of the room, closing the door behind her as she joined them.

"Is everyone else okay?"

"Everyone else…?" Alfyn replied confusingly before alarmingly remembering where he had come from. "Oh, shucks! That's right, Primrose and Therion are still waiting for me outside of the cave! Sorry, Ophilia, gotta grab H'aanit and get back out there!"

With a quick wave, the apothecary hurried down the stairs before the cleric could even say goodbye. Her and Cyrus worriedly watched as their fellow rushed to leave the inn.

"Be safe," the cleric mumbled.

"Quite the skill, my dear," Cyrus commented, examining the young woman keenly.

Turning towards the professor, the cleric asked, "What is, Professor Albright?"

"Your talent as a cleric, of course! Such magic is extremely powerful, even though it is meant to aid those around you. Whereas mine," the scholar paused, igniting a small flame on the tip of his index finger "is to be used as a means of protection, attack. Nothing as graceful and warming as your light."

"Thank you, but it isn't as difficult as it appears. Plus, if you have a want to help those in need, it makes it all the easier to learn such magic."

"Then perhaps you could show me?" Cyrus inquired.

Ophilia paused for a moment. "You mean… teach you?"

"But of course, even the keenest of intellects must learn to better themselves. Stagnation is the enemy of progress, Ophilia."

"Well… it has been awhile since I have taught anyone how to use light magic," the cleric admitted unassuredly, folding her hands in front of her as her eyes drifted to the floor, thinking. "But, you are already quite skilled in magic, so perhaps I could teach you. After all, it would be better for us as a group to have another person who knows how to use holy light."

"My sentiments exactly. Shall we begin now?"

Eyes snapping to the professor, Ophilia stammered, "N-now?"

"There is no time like the present, after all. Come, let us use the other room."

"Professor," the cleric called out, knowing it was already too late to stop him.

The black-haired man opened the door, humming happily as he entered the room. Following, seeming without any choice, Ophilia sighed good-naturedly before beaming.

"It will be nice to teach someone how to heal again," she admitted to no one in the room.

Following the scholar, Ophilia joined Cyrus in the room opposite the one Tressa was resting in.

Sitting expectantly at the table by one of the windows, the scholar awaited his teacher. The irony of the situation did not escape Ophilia, who found it amusing. Though it wasn't in her nature, Primrose or Therion would most likely tease the man.

Without reservation, Cyrus produced from his pack – which he had grabbed from his bed – two small bottles. Being clear, thus easily able to see into, Ophilia noticed they contained deep, red liquids that resembled wine.

Her assumption was affirmed only a few seconds later as she sat down across from Cyrus who had opened the bottles, placing one in front of his teacher. The smell that rose from the small container was undoubtedly laced with alcohol but contained a bittersweet scent of fruit that Ophilia couldn't quite place her finger on.

"I believe a nice glass of wine calms the nerves when teaching. This a cranberry wine I usually partake in. Quite common in markets in the north with a deep rich taste that plunges those who partake in it into a calming warmth. Perfect for those wising to teach," Cyrus explained happily. He took a sip of the beverage. "Ah, I feel as if I am back at the university."

Ophilia followed suit, reveling in the taste of the wine and internally agreeing with the professor on its calming effects. It was just the thing she needed after healing Tressa's wound.

"Now, I do believe that I have the basic idea of light magic down, couple that with my talent for ice, lightning, and fire, I should be able to reverse engineer your ability quite simply," Cyrus concluded, thinking aloud to himself.

The cleric giggled. "While I do believe light magic is one of the simpler forms of the arcane, being able to use it requires concentration."

"On what, might I ask?"

"A cleric's source of power is Aelfric, we essentially borrow it. So long as His Flame is lit, we are able to produce light magic. But any source of magic will do. You have plenty of that already, Professor. Which brings me to the next step."

From her hand, Ophilia produced a small ball of white light with little signs of concentration on her part. It glowed magnificently, alighting the room much brighter than the few candles lit. Some would say that it was a beacon, beckoning them like moths to a flame. That was how Cyrus believed he saw it.

"You must tap into the thoughts of those you care dearly about. Bringing forth your love for them allows a spark that turns the magical energy coursing through you not into fire, but light," Ophilia instructed. "Try calling upon fire, but instead of focusing solely on the flame itself, think about who that flame burns for."

Absorbing the information like a sponge, Cyrus closed his eyes, trying to think on people he would care about in the way Ophilia described it. For what seemed like minutes, his mind searched relentlessly for anyone who could create such a spark. His family was all but gone, barely a figment of a memory; few, if any, of his fellows would he call friends; but his students created a sense of pride in the professor.

Following that source of emotion, Cyrus eventually came to a handful of students who turned his pride into a sense of warmth. Princess Mary and Therese were the two that stood out the most. The princess was by far one of the brightest students the professor ever had. Teaching her was a gift in of itself, preparing the next queen for leading a wave of scholarly pursuits. Yet there was also Therese. Even though it was her doing that caused him to leave Atlasdam, he still admired her inquisitive nature that just needed a push to be fully recognized. Besides, in a way, the scholar would have to thank her for allowing him to embark on the journey of his life.

Thinking on these students, the professor rose his hand, calling on his magic.

Expecting the heat of fire on his skin, he was surprised when a dimmed light filtered through his eyelids instead. Opening his eyes, a ball of arcane energy similar to Ophilia's reflected against his hazel pupils.

Cyrus heard the cleric giggle, garnering his attention. "It seems you will be an easy pupil to teach."

The scholar smirked. "Do not disparage your own teaching, my dear. I would not be such an easy-to-teach student without a knowledgeable teacher."

Thanking the professor, the pair continued their study of light magic into the night, awaiting the return of their fellow travelers who had departed for the Obsidian Parlor to aid Primrose in facing the demons of her past.

* * *

Another brisk rush of wind flew past the two travelers standing at the mouth of the cave just outside the Obsidian Parlor. Flowing through the cave, it sounded like a dangerous beast whispering for them to venture further. Promises of jingling coin purses, or of revenge, that mattered to the person that heard the echo coming from the dangerously cold cavern. When the flurried gust of snow ended, Therion pulled his scarf around his neck, hoping to emit a sense of warmth in this freezing wasteland.

Turning his attention from the sole road that wound from a thicket of trees, the thief eyed his companion carefully. Even though her dancer's attire was thinner than parchment, and revealing on top of that, Primrose didn't seem the least bit affected by the below-freezing temperatures. In fact, she seemed to ignore it, honing in on her family dagger, watching it keenly as if it were about to strike. For all Therion knew, that was most likely the case. Who knew what was waiting for them in the cave, and possibly past it.

The thief sighed. "You're going to get frostbite, Twinkle Toes."

Halting in examining her closely-treasured weapon, she sheathed it away. "I think the cold is refreshing." Dagger now hidden, the dancer's words were punctuated by a minute tremble from the chilling air. She had to mentally stop herself from wrapping her arms around her. "After all, it is better than the dry, desert winds."

Noticing Primrose's reactions, Therion made a sound of affirmation, shrugging his shoulders. "If you say so."

Silence fell over the pair once again, neither unsure of how – or even if they wished to – continue the conversation. Their battles of words, usually full of veiled levity, were seemingly unwelcomed here at this moment. It was surprisingly unsettling to Therion. After his years of solitude, ending any budding relationships as quickly as they began, the thief had come to enjoy the talks he shared with someone who had as cunning a tongue as he. Never would he admit to this, but no one in his group could read his mind. Even then, he hardly liked to think about it, almost detesting how he was coming to know the dancer.

Again, he sighed.

This time, Primrose took notice. More to take her mind off the cold than anything, she spoke up. "You've been doing that more and more often as of late."

"If I was to say it was your doing?"

The dancer smirked. "I would ask if it was good or bad."

For a few moments, Therion thought on her words. "Haven't decided yet."

Primrose chuckled, the action helping her feel warmer. "Still as keen a tongue as ever."

"You'd think I'd lose my edge so quickly?" Therion bemusedly asked as he turned towards his companion. "Not going to happen, Twinkle Toes, I play for keeps."

"And what's the prize?" she asked coyly, like a mischievous cat at play. She needed this back-and-forth, now more than ever.

Again, Therion thought on her words. "Haven't decided yet."

The dancer pouted, using this as an excuse to wrap her arms around herself. "Aw… let me know when you do. I am eager to know what this prize will be." For extra measure, she gave her opponent a wink.

All he did was shake his head and chuckle. "Don't think that'll work so easily on me."

"No fun."

A comfortable quiet fell upon the two as they retreated to their thoughts. Eventually, the smirk on Primrose's face disappeared. Therion noticed this immediately, not needing to guess where her mind was headed. A dark place, no doubt, one that could unnerve or possibly break her. Admittedly, all the thief knew of the dancer's story was that it was one of vengeance upon those who had killed her father. While Therion had no recollection of his parents, the idea of wanting to take revenge against those who did one wrong was a concept all too familiar to him. Still unwilling to share that part of his life – yet – he felt a sense of respect for Primrose being able to talk about her past and share her burden with those who would help her.

Therion's burden was his alone…

…but he decided then that wouldn't stop him from being one of the few who would share in Primrose's.

"What are your plans for this man with the crow on his left arm?" the thief intoned, trying to bring her back into their conversation.

Curiously glancing at her companion, the dancer answered easily. "I will make him pay as he made my father pay."

"His life, huh?"

The dancer nodded her head.

Now came the question they were thinking. Though Primrose had waited all her life for the opportunity, it was still something she needed to prepare herself for.

It was silently decided on that it would be Therion to voice such a question.

"Can you do it?"

Even after having thought on the question repeatedly, an answer still hadn't come easily to Primrose.

"I must."

"You must, but can you? There is a difference, Twinkle Toes."

Her gaze turned into a venomous glare, eyes lighting up instantly. "Do not toy with me now, _thief_."

The white-haired man rose his hands up placatingly, but kept his voice strong. "Whoa there, just trying to get your bearings. Let me tell you this: what we're about to do feels like a heist, and all thieves need their heads set on their target for it to be a success. Otherwise, things will go wrong."

"Speaking from experience?"

"…yes."

Silence. Primrose's mouth hung open, wanting to respond, but finding no words. She couldn't believe that Therion had revealed even a portion of himself just then. A small minute and vague detail, but a part of himself nonetheless. Taking her lack of response as a hint to continue, Therion intoned once more.

"Can you do it?"

This time, the answer stuck in Primrose's throat, seeming as if it wasn't good enough. Eyes fell to the ground, hiding the unsureness from plain sight, something she had yet to confront.

Of course, she had killed men before, her "master" in Sunshade wasn't the first. Over the years, she unwantedly killed her fair share of selfish men that she had encountered on her journey to avenge her father and reclaim her family name. Never had she enjoyed it, relishing only in the death of Helgenish and his men. But that was because it avenged Yusufa and returned the bar in Sunshade to the dancers and barkeep. That was not for solely personal reasons.

Now, however, it seemed her moral compass had finally appeared, bringing with it the stark realization that she was, possibly, mere minutes away from killing one of the men that murdered her father. Minutes away from taking the first step towards the end of her long journey. Minutes away from relishing in a selfish murder of her own.

In that way, would that make her any different from them?

What would her father think?

Would he understand?

Would she be following the words laid down by her ancestors generations ago?

Why did these questions have to appear in her head now?

None could she answer with assurance.

With the questions parting into more questions and into even more questions, Primrose collapsed onto her knees, tears prickling her eyes and indecision plaguing her thoughts.

Could she do this?

The crunching of snow and shaking of her shoulders brought her back to reality.

"Hey."

It was Therion, she realized, trying to snap her out of her stupor. Hesitantly, she lifted her head up to meet his gaze. What she saw nearly took her breath away.

In his eyes, his usually-dulled green eyes, shined a sense of compassion and understanding that made them appear as emeralds. With them came a sense of warmth. It was comforting.

Unanswered, the thief sighed, shrugging off his thick, purple shawl. Before Primrose could ask what he was doing, Therion securely placed the article of clothing around the dancer's shoulders, bringing a physical warmth to match her slowly warming emotions. Having slightly relaxed and regained her breath, the young man answered the question he had posed to her.

"You can. Trust me. You have worked for this moment. Any thief worth their salt who would put that time into a heist, with your speed and skills, would succeed easy. Every time. So, you can."

The words rang true within Primrose, seemingly causing her to shrug off her doubt as a tree branch would shrug off snow. Vibrancy returned to her, and a small smile – not a smirk – highlighted her face. She nodded confidently to Therion.

For once, she was afraid to speak.

Seeing that was all the thief needed to know that Primrose would be able to accomplish her journey and avenge her father. Standing from his squatted position, Therion extended a hand to help the dancer off of the cold ground. She clasped his hand tightly, and he in turn helped her to her feet.

In more ways than one.

* * *

 _ **Never are these companions alone.**_

 _ **In the darkest of times, in the most incredulous of instances, the Master Thief had proven that to the Dancer from Sunshade with but a few actions and words.**_

 _ **They would then realize that many times would this happen amongst the Octopath Travelers in their adventures.**_

 _ **Soon, they will be joined by the others who will face their own demons, their doubts, and, most importantly, themselves.**_

 _ **But, as with the magic Ophilia had taught Cyrus, counting on the bonds one shares would bring forth a light to shine at the end of the darkest tunnels…**_


	11. Tale Ten

**Tale Ten, a Merchant's Mark and a Warrior's Admiration**

* * *

Near the coast of the Woodland, outside of the town of Victor's Hollow, famous for its arena and tourneys, dull, repetitive thunks echoed throughout the trees.

 _Thunk._

It never waned, occurring in uniformed precision and practice, almost as if denoting the beat of a song.

 _Thunk. Thunk._

Over and over again, creating a percussive atmosphere that would draw even the most critical minds of music. Yet, this art was for another reason entirely rather than its obscured instrumental notation.

 _Thunk._

In her mind, however, Tressa could easily use this sound as a selling point for some sort of investment in a musical sense. If she could find a theater wishing to profit from such an idea, then she could make a decent sum of leaves. Or that's what she thought as the noise broke her away from the markets in Victor's Hollow.

 _Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Three in a row now. What could have been making those sounds? Deciding to follow her curiosity wherever it may have led her, the merchant left the safety of the town's walls.

 _Thunk._

The sound picked up in intensity even as she left the nearby crowds of buyers and sellers. It wouldn't be long, she realized, before she would find the source of the beating noise.

 _Thunk._

After all, she wasn't as keen as Therion…

 _Thunk. Thunk._

Or as sensitive to her surroundings as Primrose…

 _Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Or able to track like H'aanit… but damned if she couldn't follow a sound beckoning to her like a drum. Thinking on this, Tressa then realized that the noise had faded away, dying down into nothingness and turning into a memory. Before she could admit defeat, the merchant caught sight of a familiar pair of animals playing with each other.

Linde tried her best to sleep and ignore Hagan, who was trying to catch the leopard's consistently sweeping tale. Behind them was H'aanit returning from out-of-view with a bundle of arrows in her left hand and her trusted bow in her right. Upon noticing the merchant, the huntress nodded in greeting. Her companions simply watched Tressa as she approached the small group of wildlings.

"Hey, H'aanit! Was that you just now?" the merchant asked as she waved in greeting.

"'Twas what I?" the huntress questioned back curiously.

"That thunking just now. You know? The thunk, thunk, thunk."

Tressa rasped her knuckles softly against a nearby tree to help get her point across.

"Ah, that. Yes, 'twas I. Mine practice with the bow ist of daily necessity."

"Should've known."

Coming up to the group's latest traveling companion, Tressa noticed a tree opposite H'aanit. Unable to judge the distance, the merchant could tell it was a great deal from how the tree's shadow didn't even reach where the huntress stood. There, on the poor fir's bark, was a series of grouped gouges that could only be from a weapon striking it repeatedly.

Putting the pieces together and eyeing the huntress's weapons of choice, Tressa gasped in awe. "Did you make _all_ of those shots?"

Turning towards her target, H'aanit grimaced. "Indeed, but 'twould seeme I needen more practice. One arrow ist too far right, another too far down."

"I can't even tell," the merchant admitted, squinting her eyes to see what the huntress was talking about. "Looks like you hit 'em all together to me."

"Then 'tis possibly my 'perfectionistic ways,' as Master sayeth," H'aanit admitted, patting Hagan when the wolf stared expectantly at her upon hearing talk about their master.

"Still that's amazing! I wish I could shoot like that."

The air of excitability dispersed as the merchant was grounded to reality by thinking of her shortcomings with one of their shared weapons of choice.

"Ah, yes, thou usith a bow, as well," the huntress remembered aloud.

Tressa turned towards her and the two animals, approaching Hagan and giving him a soft pat on the head. "Yup, but I'm nowhere near as good as you, H'aanit."

"Mayhaps not, but I couldst teachen thee, if thou wished."

The merchant beamed happily at the idea. "That would be awesome, H'aanit! You think you could teach me to do that?"

The red-headed huntress followed the finger Tressa was pointing towards the thick trunk of the tree that had, only moments ago, been a pin cushion for her bundle of arrows.

Nodding her head slowly, H'aanit admitted, "With practice, mayhaps someday. 'Twill taken concentration, though, and a constitution unliken any you hath had. Art thou prepared?"

Waving her hand, Tressa pulled her bow out. "Psh, yeah! I may not look like it, but I'm a decent shot."

At her eagerness, H'aanit could not help but chuckle.

"Very well, then thy first exercise is to shooten an arrow at the same trunk and haven it strike true."

"Alright, I can do that."

Taking an arrow offered to her by the huntress, Tressa aimed her bow at the tree. Tongue sticking out and one eye closed, the merchant marked her target in her mind and pulled back her arm. Satisfied with her aim, she pulled back on her bow and released. The arrow flew straight towards the target, eventually finding its way into one of the holes left by H'aanit's own target practice.

"Boom! Bullseye!" Tressa cheered, jumping up and down jubilantly. In the midst of her celebration, the young auburn-haired woman did not notice the arrow fall to the ground.

H'aanit crossed her arms, while her animal companions turned away from the commotion.

"Art thou so certain?"

Halting herself mid-celebration, Tressa turned to the target. "Of course, I'm… What!? It fell out! But that shot was so far, I put my all into it…"

Noticing the arrow on the ground caused Tressa to sink to her knees, her dress hiding her legs amongst the shallow grass. Crestfallen so easily, H'aanit began to wonder if the youngest member of the group was prepared for the endeavor of learning the hunter's bow.

"Do not sulke so easily, Tressa. May I see thy bow?"

Looking up from her position, the merchant acquiesced and handed the small bow she carried to the huntress. With a keen eye much like an eagle's, H'aanit intently inspected the weapon, noticing things only a hunter of S'warkii would. All the while, her new protégé watched in awe, impressed by the concentration and ability to pick out details in her bow. It was like watching a merchant peruse a line of stalls until he found the perfect treasure to buy. After moment of waiting with bated breath, Tressa's new teacher returned the bow to its owner.

"A good weapon, but 'tis not meant for the hunt."

"What do you mean?" Tressa curiously stood from her position, subconsciously wiping off any loose grass from her dress.

"'Tis much too small. Neither doth it hath the power, nor the ability, to maken a shot that would reacheth that tree. Here, looken at my bow. Thou shalt see."

Sheathing her own weapon, Tressa eagerly accepted the huntress's bow. Immediately there was a difference. The weight of the weapon was beyond what the merchant thought it would be, causing her to wonder if it was truly wood that was used to make this bow. When she went to pull at the taut string, Tressa found that she could hardly pull it back even half of its full draw. Releasing it with exasperation, she let out an aggressive wheeze.

"This isn't a bow, it's a weapon of mass destruction! How can you shoot with this H'aanit?"

Chuckling lightly, the huntress grabbed her weapon, a small gust causing the fringe of her tunic and strands of red hair to blow gently in the wind. For a moment, Tressa felt as if she was watching a goddess of hunting move in front of her. Before saying anything, H'aanit pulled back the bowstring with a practiced motion. The merchant swore she could see the huntress's shoulder and arm muscles become as taut as the string.

"'Tis in practice. It tooketh me many moons to properly wield this bow. Master wouldst laughen at me whenever I did." A small smile formed on H'aanit's face as she thought on the memory before she slowly released the bowstring back to rest. "Maken use of this bow is not easy, but the power in it will increase both range and penetration. Here, for now tryen to pull the string back half way. 'Twill help train you."

The huntress handed her bow to the merchant. Expecting something grander, or more interesting, Tressa stared at the bow half-expectantly, not really sure if she wanted to spend her time in such a way. Sighing, and deciding it would be best for her to brush up on her skills with the bow, the merchant accepted the weapon, holding it down range and carefully pulling back the string in an attempt at a half-draw.

She mumbled as she continued, "If you say so H'aanit…"

* * *

Leaves rustled in waves throughout the forest, some more violent than the others for but half of a second. If one was paying close attention, they would see a few branches tumble from the higher boughs. Below, an arrow protruded victoriously from the thick tree trunk.

A loud sound of celebration rang within the woods outside Victor's Hollow. There, Tressa jumped up and down, H'aanit's bow in one hand held up high and her vacant arm limp at her side.

"Yes! I finally did it!" she declared as the huntress nodded her head approvingly at the arrow sticking deeply, and clearly, from the tree they had been using as target practice.

It had been a few hours, but finally Tressa was able to muster up the strength to shoot the bow well enough for one arrow to strike true.

"Well done, indeed," H'aanit mused with a grin, proud of her impromptu protégé.

"Thanks! But, uh… H'aanit? How long is my arm gonna be limp like this?"

Both women's eyes turn towards Tressa's limp left arm. A sharp tingle ran up and down it, indicating it wasn't too damaged, and she could move her fingers, but the strength in her extremity had all but disappeared after that final shot. The huntress chuckled.

"'Twill regain feeling within the hour. 'Tis but one of the challenges hunters facen when learning the way of the bow."

"That's good to know!" Tressa replied with a chipper attitude, as if her arm hadn't lost all range of motion. "Here's you bow back. I think I'm done for the day."

Taking the bow, H'aanit replied, "Of course, if one of thine arms art not working properly."

"No kidding! Besides, I think someone else wants to talk to you."

Following Tressa's pointing finger again, the huntress was surprised to see Linde and Hagen being entertained by the warrior in the group of travelers.

Sitting on a trunk near the road to Victor's Hollow, Olberic stroked Hagen's fur, earning the grown man several tail wags from the wolf. Linde was much more skeptical, sniffing the man's other hand lightly. In turn, Olberic baited his time, waiting for when the snow leopard would trust him enough to give her attention. If Linde's eagerness indicated anything to H'aanit, it would not be long before she wished for the same affection Hagen was receiving.

"'Twould seemeth so," H'aanit mused, standing still as she curiously watched the interaction before her.

With her shoulder, Tressa bumped into the huntress excitedly, giving her something akin to a high five with her limp arm. "Go get 'em, tiger! Tigress? Whichever. If Olberic's here, then the others are probably at the tavern. Maybe I can guilt someone into buying me a drink with my arm."

The women shared a light chuckle before Tressa bid her teacher farewell and did the same to Olberic as she passed the towering man, now at the beckoning call of the two animals before him. In return, the warrior waved, standing from his seat – much to the disgruntlement of Hagen and Linde – striding towards H'aanit, a pair of eager animals following in his gait.

"How fares the training?" the warrior asked politely.

Hand on her hip, the huntress replied, "Tressa seemeth all the part of the huntress, just needen the proper guidance."

"I would assume as much, I wanted to ask to take her on as an apprentice of mine," Olberic admitted, rubbing the back of his head. "The way she holds a spear… if her technique was properly tempered, she would outdo me in speed without a doubt."

"She doth hath the will," H'aanit agreed with an air of challenge. "Alas, I believe I hath beaten thou to the young merchant. A huntress doth not let an apprentice go so easily."

Olberic guffawed. "What they say about the hunters of S'warkii is true: as stubborn as you are skilled. Do not worry, I would never wish to take a trainee from such an inspiring teacher."

A smirk graced H'aanit's lips. "Thou honors me with thine words."

"It is the truth. A strong woman stands before me, I cannot gloss over such a fact."

Now, a light blush crept up to the huntress's face. She did not know why, but the string of praise from the warrior brought about a slight nervousness that incited a playfulness along with it.

"Now, thou art just toying with me. What an honorable knight."

"Honorable, yes. A knight no more, however, so forgive me if I forget some of the aspects required of chivalry." With a little flourish, but a grin hinting his lack of seriousness, Olberic bowed his head, hand on his heart. "Would you forgive such a grievance?"

Following in his playful act, H'aanit grabbed the fringe of her tunic, pulling it up like the skirt of a dress and curtsying, mimicking – and mocking – the air of a noblewoman. "Thou art forgiven, sir knight."

The pair laughed at their antics, finding amusement in them where only they would. After all, neither the warrior nor the huntress were considered 'amusing' by their companions. It was in each other's presence that they could feel as if they were the least bit funny. However important a discovery this was, they only now discovered it.

A comfortable silence fell between the two as their hilarity tapered off, leaving them to watch the other easily and wait for the next move. Linde seemed to detest the quiet, nipping at one of Olberic's hands. Instead of receiving the pat on the head she wished for, the leopard only returned the warrior to his reasons for having searched for the huntress in the first place.

"Ah, yes. Thank you, Linde, I almost forgot."

In his hands, Olberic held a wineskin. "I thought we could share a drink. After fighting against those in the tournament, I am quite parched."

"'Twould be nice to taken a break," H'aanit affirmed, sitting on a stone not far from where her impromptu shooting range stretched out towards the targeted tree.

Sitting beside her, Olberic gave the wine to his companion first. Slowly, she took a drink of the offered wine, reveling in the smooth taste. Never had she tasted a conflicting blend of flavors that somehow managed to come together in an imperfectly perfect combination.

"This wine is oddly delicious. A local delicacy?" H'aanit inquired, curious as to the drink's origin.

"I thought so as well. A woman gifted it to me after the preliminary rounds. Primrose believed it was a token of affection. I disagree, it was just a welcoming gift," Olberic mused, drinking from the wineskin himself.

"Thou hast an admirer."

"Possibly. She said it was aquaoir wine: a beverage involving a fermentation process where these bottles are left in cages deep in the sea. I have never heard of such a thing, so I was eager to try it. It would seem it does have some impact on the taste."

Olberic took one more swig before handing the wine back to H'aanit, who followed the warrior's lead.

"Interesting but sharing in this delicacy cannot be the sole reason thou hast comen to find me."

The warrior, aware of the huntress's keen ability of observation, nodded his head. "It is part of the reason, but you are right. Tomorrow I will face off against Gustav in the tourney. We are allowed to have fellows fight alongside us. I wanted to know if you would join me as one of my fellows-in-arms."

"Thou wouldst come to me?"

"Of course. Your merit and skill are distinguishable amongst most in our group. Therion and Primrose are skilled, but in their own right. They would not do well in a sanctioned duel, what with their less-than-honorable methods." The warrior chuckled before continuing. "Ophilia and Tressa would do well, but they are not as versed in the ways of dueling. So, I thought I would ask Alfyn, Cyrus, and you to aid me: Alfyn for his unnatural knack for battle and first aid; Cyrus due to his knowledge; and you because of your skills in the hunt."

Thinking on his explanation for a moment, H'aanit asked, "And would they allowen Linde to participate?"

"There are no rules forbidding the use of beasts, tamed or otherwise," the warrior answered, taking another a sip of wine offered to him. "She can join and battle with her ferocity, it is another reason I chose to ask you to accompany me."

H'aanit smiled lightly, stroking Linde's mane. "She welcomes a challenge, always. And now 'twould seem I hath found out why she wanted thine approval."

"Ah, an ulterior motive. Crafty as she is strong."

"That she ist." Thinking on her words for only the briefest of moments, the huntress gave the warrior her answer. "I will joinen thou. Mayhaps 'twill prove an invaluable experience. And, though thou doth not needst it, a helping hand to watch thy back would be just as invaluable."

Smirking, Olberic joked, "Now you're making a joke at my expense? What a back-handed compliment."

Snatching the wineskin from the warrior's hands, H'aanit victoriously retorted, "Never did I sayeth I was not as well-versed with my turn-of-phrase as Primrose or Therion. A strong man can taken choice strong words, no?"

"From an equally strong woman, he can."

The candor between the two went back and forth until the tree's shadows became longer, prompting them to return to the tavern in Victor's Hollow. Walking back, even Linde and Hagen could notice the air of ease between the pair as they strode close to each other, exchanging the remainder of the wine as they held themselves with the strength so prominent in their characters. Two of the most stalwart individuals in Orsterra had not realized that they had now intertwined themselves so closely in the other's life with such ease.

* * *

 _ **Strength.**_

 _ **A word so engrained in society that people mistake it for the physical prowess or political power the most prestigious wield in Orsterra.**_

 _ **Even amongst the strongest, however, there exists strength that does not lie in the build of their muscle, but the appearance of their character; when one finds such a fortitude of demeanor similar to their own, then they find a partner.**_

 _ **Where the bond of such fortuitous companions progresses, only their power of will can decide, as we shall see…**_


	12. Tale Eleven

**Tale Eleven, a Dancer's Theft and When Men are Alone**

* * *

"If I never have to trudge through disgusting slop like that again, it'll be too soon," Therion complained, trudging in his dirty boots down the cliffside streets of Quarrycrest. He swore he could feel something squirming and squelching between his toes with every step he took. "Think some of that sludge got into my boots…"

"I think some got in my shoes, too," Primrose agreed, using him as a balance for a moment to remove her shoe. Turning it upside down, some brown muck and a few undiscernible objects poured forth from it.

Primrose sighed heavily. "There better be a place to buy new dancing slippers here." Straightening up, she batted her eyelashes at her thieving counterpart. "Think you could steal a pair for me?"

Resting his hands behind his head, Therion continued walking ahead of Primrose. "Don't take jobs unless they pay, Twinkle Toes."

Pouting and jogging to catch up to the thief, the dancer smirked victoriously as she spoke seductively. "I could pay you another way."

Pulling up his scarf to hide the blush creeping up on his cheeks, the thief smoothly replied, "Don't know if you could pay enough for my services."

"The slight waver in your voice says otherwise," Primrose strode away, a swagger to her steps and a sway in her hips that she knew the young thief keenly paid attention to. A swish of her brunette hair to mask her eyeing him confirmed her suspicions, causing her to chuckle lightly.

Shaking his head to snap out of the trance, Therion caught up with Primrose, walking next to her to better stay out of view of her hypnotizing hips. Tugging on his scarf again, the thief huffed, ashamed at himself for being defeated so easily in a cunning battle of witty tongues. Their back-and-forth had continued ever since they had met those few fortnights ago. A victor had not been announced yet, neither did they know the signifying moment that would declare the winner. But when it came, their instincts would tell them.

Buildings passed by in a blur as they made their way towards the local tavern, Cyrus and Olberic rushing ahead to procure a drink sooner. The thief had an idea. It was an idea that one had in a moment of brief brilliance, but then almost regretted. After all, flying too close to sun would only burn him. Unable to stop himself, Therion sighed forlornly at the thought.

This caught Primrose's attention, causing her to raise a questioning brow towards her companion. "Is something the matter?"

Realizing he was caught, Therion slightly jutted to attention. Knowing he couldn't hide his thoughts from someone so perceptive, he answered her, sighing once more. "Well, if you really want to nab yourself a pair of dancing slippers, I could always teach you how to be a thief."

Expecting an immediate retort, Therion was surprised to find a flicker of thought in Primrose's hazel eyes, glinting like ambers. Excitement flitted through them, followed by a sense of pragmatism. Without her words saying anything, Therion understood that she would take him up on his offer. Like growing up with a childhood friend, the thief and dancer had already been able to read the other within seconds of a hint of body language, the subtle shifting of lips, the meaning behind words. They had only known each other for a brief time, and there it was. For once, the thief considered cursing his ability to read people so quickly. Thinking the better of it, he nodded his head towards Quarrycrest's marketplace. It seemed his companions were smart to go on ahead to the tavern.

Seeing his silent gesture, the dancer grinned mischievously, still swaying her hips in that way only she could. After all, if one had an advantage over another, they would press it. Wouldn't a thief continue to pressure their dagger into the throat of a victim until they agreed to hand over their hard-earned leaves? Tools of the trade were meant to be used; Primrose had become very good over the years at using the tools available to a dancer like herself. Now it would seem that she would learn how to incorporate the tricks of the thief into her trade. For someone as nimble as her, she believed she would very easily be able to have nimble and sticky fingers like Therion. However, in the master thief's mind, there was one issue.

Instead of bringing up said problem now, he knew it would be better for Primrose to learn from experience rather than be told what to do. The humorous thought of her impending first lesson brought forth a self-gratifying chortle from Therion. Arriving at the market stands, he knew it was time. So, as he had learned from watching, he would do so again now.

Leaning against one of the few buildings in the area, he examined the stands for a simple target. Eyes wandering for only the briefest of moments, he noticed a man who consistently focused on his costumers, but ignored his wears. An easy target if one knew how to approach him. Signaling towards the peddler, Primrose followed the Therion's gaze.

Her lips curled, eyes turning predatory as she locked on to her target. Flipping her hair and giving a sound of indignation, she sauntered towards the merchant. If it wasn't for the distance she created between her and the thief, Primrose would have heard the laughter making its way through Therion's signature purple scarf.

Approaching the stand, ready to begin the test, Primrose leaned over the man's wares – some trinkets and baubles – examining his selection, hands behind her back and chest purposely protruding forward. Her revealing top was enough for the man to take notice of her.

"'Ello, M'lady! What's a pretty lass such as yourself doin' perusin' a poor man's humble stand?" the merchant greeted, bowing with flourish and speaking with pretty words that Primrose recognized he hardly used – if his pronunciation hinted at anything.

"Oh, I'm just seeing what I can find to help accentuate my neckline, you see," Primrose replied sweetly, subtly brushing her neck with her fingers to lure the man's eyes to where she wanted them.

Quite successfully, her seduction worked.

"W-well, M'lady, I would be honored to serve!"

His words came too excitedly; his body and mannerisms indicating he had fallen prey to her whims.

From a distance, Therion shook his head, muttering under his breath with humor, "What a tricky snake. Let's see what she does now. Oh?"

The thief's eyes had just returned to the scene, seeing that Primrose had a necklace on now and was twirling gleefully in front of the merchant, putting on a show for him.

"My, this is brilliant, would you not say, sir?" the dancer replied with a fluttering of her eyes.

Clapping his hands happily, he answered excitedly, "'Tis, M'lady! 'Tis indeed!"

Ending her show, the practicing thief noticed a pair of matching earrings behind her quarry. Eyes subtly gleaming with a sense of victory, she asked, "But would you happen to have a pair of matching earrings?"

Shooting up at the thought of a bigger sale – and to a beautiful woman nonetheless – the merchant turned around, scrambling with trembling hands to search for the earrings Primrose had noticed in seconds.

"O-of course! Just a moment, M'lady!"

Seeing he would be searching for quite some time, Primrose took this as her chance to stealthily sneak away from the scene. All eyes finally off of her, she quietly tiptoed away from the stand back to Therion, leaving behind a stuttering mess of a merchant.

Taking off her reward and throwing it at Therion, who deftly caught it, she moved closely to him, fingers trailing up his chest as she hummed victoriously. In a singsong voice, she celebrated, "Looks like thievery is much easier than I had thought."

"Not bad, Twinkle Toes. Not bad," Therion agreed, tossing the amulet in the air a few times, testing its weight. "Quite a piece you got here."

"Isn't it? Should be calling me 'Tip Toes' now. So, about my reward…"

Her voice trailed off as her teacher chuckled lowly, noticing something behind her.

"Hold your horses, _Twinkle_ Toes. You didn't exactly make a clean getaway."

Primrose took a step back, a sense of unease rising in her chest. "What do you mean?

Pointing towards the stand behind her, the dancer followed the thief's finger.

At the stand she had just purloined the trinket from was a group of three guards speaking to the merchant who was angerly searching every which way for the dancer-turned-thief. Before he could notice her, Primrose felt someone grip her wrist.

Pulling her into the narrow alleyway, Therion pressed the accused dancer to his chest to hide from the guards and enraged merchant. Not a minute later had they disappeared did the clinking of armor reach the pair's ears. The guards ran past their hiding spot, not noticing the conspirators hiding away between buildings.

They stayed there for a few moments longer, making sure that the coast was completely clear. It was at this moment that they noticed how close they were to each other. Seen by the wrong people, rumors would fly about between their traveling group of a romantic escapade. Their hearts beat heavily from holding their breath and the near proximity of the other's body. Flushed faces did not help their cause, but neither noticed as they continued watching the streets. Or that was their excuse. Truthfully, they could not look at the other right now, a small flicker of unfamiliar fear keeping them from doing so. Only when their bodies demanded oxygen did they gasp for air and slowly lean out of their hiding spot.

Seeing that the guards had disappeared, and the merchant with them, they emerged from the shadows. Slowly releasing each other, a small cry of loss at the retreating warmth of another body echoed in the back of their minds. Stubborn as they were, the co-conspirators mentally stifled the cry immediately.

Still willing his eyes away from her, Therion returned to business. "Two of thieving's biggest rules, almost laws: don't let the victim see your face, and don't let them know you took something. You broke both in your first heist."

Blowing a strand of hair from her face and leaning her weight onto one hip, Primrose sullenly responded, "I _was_ able to steal the necklace."

"Yes, but the merchant saw you and knew you took it. You would have been caught, could still be caught. Should keep a low profile for a bit."

Without another word, the thief removed his scarf, wrapping it around Primrose's neck and head, hiding her profile and revealing top from view.

Startled, the dancer tried to take a step back, but was held in place by Therion. "What are you…?"

"Shut it, trying to hide you from the authorities, obviously."

The thief's eyes were glancing every which way, except at Primrose, as he worked. This did not go unnoticed by the dancer.

Satisfied with his work, Therion stepped away from his student, turning towards the market. "That's enough classwork for the day. Just watch and you'll see what I mean, okay?"

Words stuck in the dancer's throat for whatever reason. A witty retort desperately wished to form in her head, but Primrose could only nod.

Receiving a similar confirmation from her teacher, Therion walked easily towards the stands, fingers twitching slightly as he approached a jeweler's wares. If his wits were about him, the thief would have noticed the small smile of appreciation Primrose wore under his scarf.

* * *

"Cheers, mates!"

Laughter was muffled by a mug almost as quickly as the familiar, raucous noise had started. Everyone else joined in more quietly, reveling in the satisfying thickness of the concoction they were ingesting. While Cyrus and Olberic had saved a portion of their drink, Therion and Alfyn finished theirs off with a sound of satisfaction.

"Ah! What a way to end a busy day!" Alfyn exclaimed.

Chuckling, Therion replied, "A stiff drink is a good reward for a day like today. You seem exceedingly jubilant, Doc."

The apothecary rubbed the back of his head, a nervous twitch the thief had come to realize. Something exceedingly good had happened to him today.

"Nothin' really, jus' a good day. That's all," Alfyn replied, still scratching his head.

Chuckling good-naturedly, Cyrus joined in on the conversation. "We would believe you, Alfyn, but you are still playing with the back of your hair."

"Oh, am I? Didn't notice."

Even after pointing out the fact, he still continued rubbing the back of his head.

"At this point, even I have noticed something is off," Olberic quipped before taking a drink. "But perhaps it is this egg drink that has already gotten the better of me. Only one drink to best me now? How I have fallen."

"It is advocaat, Sir Olberic. A concoction of eggs, sugar, and whiskey quite frequented by citizens in the Canyonlands." Taking a sip for himself, the scholar reveled in the taste. "As delicious as it is potent. Combine that with the high altitude and one drink may be all you need to become intoxicated."

"If that's the case, everyone in Cobbleston would laugh at me. The great Unbending Blade felled by a single drink. Oh, the mockery!"

Shifting easily into his overdramatization, the warrior fell onto the table head first, earning a round of laughs from his companions.

"We need to get him drunk more often, huh," Therion pointed out.

"Definitely! Hey, Therion lemme get ya another drink. Least I can do," Alfyn offered, somehow still scratching his head. At this point it was a surprise he still had any hair left.

Raising his eyebrow suspiciously, the thief probed his companion. "Oh yeah? You're buying?"

"Yup!"

"Okay, can't say no to that."

Taking his feet off the table, Therion joined Alfyn as they walked towards the bar, leaving Cyrus and Olberic to their devices. In this case, the scholar would use the opportunity alone with the former Knight of Hornburg to ask him a few questions.

Folding his hands under his chin, Cyrus eyed Olberic like a research subject.; in this case, he may have well been. "Now, Sir Olberic, shall we return to some of those questions."

Finishing his drink and waving at the thief and apothecary to buy him another one, the warrior turned back to the scholar as he heard his name. Usually able to withstand Cyrus's scanning eyes, in his tipsy state, Olberic felt just a bit more vulnerable, causing him to simply mumble an "Oh, no."

"But of course!" Cyrus replied before launching into a tirade of questions that Olberic felt he would never escape from. As the scholar kept pressing him for answers, the warrior felt the grey streaks in his hair increasing in strands.

Meanwhile, Alfyn and Therion watched amusingly from the bar before turning around to leave the interrogation be for the moment. Finally, having stopped his head scratching, Alfyn joined Therion in a second drink, keeping Olberic's advocaat between them for the time being.

"This oughtta be interesting, eh?" the apothecary spoke up. Receiving only an amused sound of acknowledgement from his counterpart, Alfyn pressed further. "So, how was helpin' out our resident professor today?"

"Went dungeon diving in sewers, found some bad guy mage, kicked his ass, saved the day. You know how it is," Therion answered briefly.

"Well, at least it was an evil wizard. Can knock them on their ass without a care," Alfyn mumbled.

"Hm, saving that kid today with Feather not pane out how you wanted?"

"No, not that, it's just… The guy was a dirtbag. Usin' people 'til they can't be used no more?" Slamming his mug on the bar in a burst of anger earned a small reaction from the thief. "How can someone do that?"

Capitalizing on the silence from Therion, Alfyn downed his drink quickly.

"Proost, then." Raising his glass, the thief did the same, seeing his skilled words were needed once more. "Keep talking, Doc."

Taking the thief up on his offer, Alfyn didn't even question why Therion was caring to hear his words. "Just… the world should be blacker and whiter. We kicked his butt, we should feel like we saved the kid. But it only brings up more questions, like how his bodyguard died for him. Did he want to die for money? Could it have been loyalty that drove him instead? Who'd be loyal to a dirtbag like that? It just… doesn't make no sense, Therion. No sense at all."

Listening intently, despite the alcohol in his system, Therion waved the barkeep down, ordering two more drinks, while simultaneously speaking. "It's the world we live in, Doc. There's not a right or wrong, only what we think is right and wrong. Our ideals."

The words brought the apothecary out of his spiraling thoughts, garnering his attention.

The white-haired man continued. "Those stem from our want to survive. We're all just humans, it's in our nature. So, remember that. Survival is the name of the game. But just don't forget to find people who echo your own sentiments. You're too good for that, Doc."

Stunned by his words, seconds passed before Alfyn smiled lightly, a feeling of positivity reverberating throughout his body. "Huh, didn't think you could say something like that."

"We all surprise everyone sometimes. Plus, I taught Primrose about thieving today, may as well keep teaching." Therion jumped from his seat, carrying all three drinks in his hands.

Turning to look after the thief, Alfyn questioned, "Wait, what's that 'bout Primrose?"

Ignoring him, Therion kept walking towards the table, setting the drinks down. Shaking his head, a new smile on his face, the apothecary followed the thief, mumbling to himself, "Still full o' mysteries, friend. But I'm starting to get a peg on ya."

Rejoining his friends, the apothecary came at the end of Cyrus's interrogation to see a near-passed out Olberic covering his ears. Unsurprisingly, the scholar didn't seem to care about his subject's lack of attention.

"…and does Hornburg have a more military-complex culture? Did they focus on the arts, or sciences? What were the diets of military men like?"

"Okay, Professor, I think you may have broken our resident knight," Alfyn interrupted, placing his hand on Cyrus's shoulder to break him from his constant cycle of unanswered questions.

"Hm? Oh."

Noticing Olberic's condition for the first time that night, he apologized. "Sorry, Sir Olberic. Sometimes I lose myself in my research."

"I think… I need that drink…" the warrior simply responded, robotically reaching for the advocaat and taking it down with one swift swig. Mug emptied, Olberic threw it on the floor, his head slamming into the table, showing he was completely passed out.

"Huh, musta been a tiring day," Alfyn stated, returning to his own seat next to the incapacitated man. "Gonna be one hell of a struggle to bring him back to the inn."

"Yes, well, it would seem I have badgered him too much today," the scholar concluded. "Ah, I wish his constitution was just a bit higher."

"You did the same thing in the sewers, you know," Therion commented.

"True, perhaps it's just the drinks."

"Or you asked too many questions."

"Never! A scholar can never cease learning; just as a thief cannot cease stealing. It is out of the question!"

Therion sighed. "That attitude's going to get you in trouble someday. Just like that lady said."

"Odette has said such things," Cyrus mused, hand to his chin in thought. "Perhaps there is a kernel of truth there."

"More like a whole corn cob, but I'll let you think on that," Therion finished, drinking the last of his egg-based beverage before standing up only so shortly after sitting down. "Come on, let's go find the girls and get Mountain to his bed."

"Aw, already? Thought we could chew the fat some more," Alfyn whined, but acquiesced, following the thief. "Fine, but the Professor has to do most o' the liftin'."

"My sentiments exactly. Come on, Teach"

"I shall do my best, but it may take all three of us," Cyrus admitted, joining the two men in standing next to Olberic.

"Just hafta do our best. I'll take his back, Cyrus, Therion get his sides."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. One… two… three…!"

With great effort, the trio was somehow able to lift the mountainous man to his feet and carry him through the door of the tavern. On their way back to the inn, they received several curious stares and a few laughs in their direction. It was an amusing sight, after all: three men, trying to lift a giant warrior who very well could weigh as much as his carriers when wearing armor – which, that night, he was doing so.

As Therion kicked open the door to the inn, he heard conversation coming from familiar voices. In his drunken haze, the thief realized too late why the voices sounded familiar.

There, in the inn lobby, sat the men's female companions, sitting next to the fire with drinks in hand. Their attention was now solely on their male counterparts.

"Shit…" Therion mumbled.

The single word was the only sound uttered for a minute longer before Tressa burst into a boisterous laughter, falling out of her seat. The rest of the women joined in, bellowing joyfully at the site of their companions.

Alfyn chuckled uneasily. "Guess we got some explainin' to do."

* * *

 _ **Ah, the blessing of a drink at the end of a long day.**_

 _ **It was the first time these companions would make fools of themselves thanks to the power of alcohol.**_

 _ **Yet not the last, for what were the women of the Octopath Travelers doing whilst our merry band of men drank their daily woes away?**_

 _ **I believe it would be remiss of me to not tell their story, yes?**_

 _ **After all, there were two tales to take place in Quarrycrest at this time, so we must see what happened after both stories ended…**_


	13. Tale Twelve

**Tale Twelve, a Merchant's Meddling and When Women are Alone**

* * *

"Ali! Wait up! Dammit, he's gone," Tressa grumbled, crossing her arms and puffing her cheeks out in frustration. If Ophilia couldn't tell that her friend was mad, then she would have said the merchant looked adorable. "After all that, he still wants to beat me at being the best merchant. Geez, you think he could have at least given _me_ the head start…"

Alfyn chuckled, placing his hands behind his head nonchalantly. "That Ali is sure springier than a grasshopper, that's for sure. Too bad he ain't wearing a green tunic or somethin', then you'd have a nickname to combat 'Green Pea.'"

"I'll figure something out, don't you worry, Alfyn!" the merchant exclaimed, mood starting to brighten after talking to the apothecary for only a brief minute. "We'll cook something up that'll make him twice as embarrassed!"

"You need a helpin' hand, I'm in. But I think Therion may be better at the nicknamin' game than yours truly."

"Yeah, you're right. I'll ask him when we get back!" Tressa responded carefreely, leading the group away from Morlock's Manse.

Alfyn sighed amusedly. "So truthful."

The group fell into a comfortable silence as the humming merchant and H'aanit – along with Linde – led them along the canyon path back to Quarrycrest where they hoped that Cyrus's group had just as much luck as they had. Splitting up was quite common for the group of eight. According to Therion, it prevented them from being detected, while Olberic determined it was best to capitalize on strategies meant for smaller squads. Neither saw eye-to-eye on most matters, but when it came to strategizing, they were probably the smartest of the Octopath Travelers. That was what Ophilia believed anyway.

Noticing that Alfyn was not in front of her, she turned around to see him slowly bringing up the rear, eyes distant as he was plagued by his thoughts. Ophilia grimaced, realizing it was because of what they witnessed at the manse. A man, so hellbent on being paid, threw his life away so that a more despicable man could attempt to flee with his riches. In the end, this man fled with nothing, but it was wrong that he escaped all the same. Yet everyone in the group knew that murder would not solve anyone's problems. H'aanit surmised that, perhaps, he would trip and fall down a cliff. While the world would then be rid of Morlock, no man deserved such a death.

That still left Alfyn, who was brewing, questioning his moral compass on what was right or wrong. Should they have killed that man instead of letting him go? Ophilia did not believe so, due to her conscience, but even the most goodhearted layfolk would have thought differently, ending his life on the spot. The travelers' resident apothecary appeared to be little different from those layfolk.

Hoping to help her friend, Ophilia slowed down until she matched pace with Alfyn. When she did, she laid a gloved hand on the shoulder of his green vest, garnering his attention.

"Is everything alright, Alfyn?" she asked innocently, hoping to dive right into the matter.

Replacing his grimace with a bright smile almost immediately (and quite impressively, Ophilia would admit), the apothecary assured the cleric. "Don't worry Ophilia, just stuck in my head. That's all."

Smiling gently, Ophilia replied persistently, "Then let me help you out of there."

Not expecting that response, Alfyn floundered, cheeks starting to heat up a bit. He didn't have the heart to say no, so instead he stuttered out, "Um… s-sure. Always nice talkin' with ya, Philia."

"'Philia?'" the cleric parroted, unused to most people giving her a nickname.

"Y-yeah. Sorry, I thought you'd uh… like it or somethin'."

"I do, actually. Besides Lianna or Therion, no one has actually called me anything else but 'Ophilia' or 'Lady Ophilia'." Grinning, she finished, "It's much better than 'Sister,' too."

"Well, just thought we were close 'nough and all, and I thought it sounded good on ya," Alfyn admitted, rubbing the back of his head nervously.

Giggling, Ophilia responded. "I like it."

"Oh, that's good."

"Yeah."

"Hm…"

A pregnant pause followed, neither knowing what else to say as an uncomfortable silence fell over the pair.

From up ahead, Linde noticed the silence, ears flickering back and forth before she turned towards the two healers. H'aanit noticed immediately, following suit. Seeing her companions dawdle so in, what appeared to be, an awkward situation, H'aanit smirked.

"Ah, 'tis a first blush if I hath seen one," she commented amusedly.

Her voice stopped Tressa as well, causing her to turn to where H'aanit was watching. Smirking deviously, the merchant said, "Prim was right. I'm the youngest and even I can see these two are hopeless lovebirds. Should we let them know?"

Patting her apprentice on the shoulder, she couldn't help but feel the firm muscle Tressa had built thanks to her practice at using a hunter's bow through her dress. Prideful of her teachings, H'aanit returned from her short musing to the situation at hand.

"No, 'twould be unwise to antagonize. Breaken apart a pair of mates before thou knowst leaden to consequences."

"Aw, you're no fun…" the young merchant pouted, adjusting the bigger bow she now had slung over her shoulders. Sure, it was more powerful, but it was almost as tall as her! It made it awkward to walk sometimes. "Can we tease them?"

Turning to continue towards Quarrycrest, H'aanit replied mirthfully, "Mayhaps 'twill moven one toward the other. I seen no harm if thou jests."

Her mischievous grin returning, the merchant shouted towards Alfyn and Ophilia, "Come on you two lovebirds! We need to make it back to Quarrycrest before nightfall!"

Rushing to join H'aanit, Tressa didn't need to see the pair to know that both of their faces were heating up faster than a Sunland desert.

Doing just that, the two turned away from each other, the silence between them now more uncomfortable than before. Ophilia had no idea what to say to Alfyn now, not after Tressa's teasing. In fact, the cleric was the one retreating into her mind now, thinking on the situation at hand. She couldn't do that, not after falling back to Alfyn's side to help him get out of his mind. But what could she say to end this irksome silence?

"Ya know, I don't like thinkin' that someone should die."

The words brought Ophilia back to reality and her attention to Alfyn, who now wore a somber expression. Just as the cleric had thought, letting Morlock leave after he sent his bodyguard to die was weighing on Alfyn's conscience. The pair stopped as the apothecary gathered his thoughts.

"I mean, I'm an apothecary. I should be wantin' to help a person live no matter what, right? But then there's people like Morlock who're like a disease to this world." Each sentence he spoke Alfyn was seemingly grasping for words, not entirely sure of what he was saying. "I guess what I'm askin' is should it be okay to want someone dead if what I'm supposed to do is help them live? Should I have as much say in a person's life as anyone else?"

Those questions caused Ophilia to pause, knowing that a paltry reassurance would not help her friend. After all, she had had similar thoughts in the past.

Summoning up her courage, the cleric brought the apothecary into her embrace. Actions spoke louder than words in these instances, but some words would still help.

"Ophilia, I…"

"Shh… it's okay, Alfyn," she cooed, calming the apothecary as he relaxed in her hold, his arms wrapping around the cleric unassuredly. "There is no right or wrong answer. The world is a place full of so many colors that it's hard to tell what is good and what is evil sometimes. But in the instances where we question it, that's where we know we have a beautiful heart. One full of compassion, understanding, but sorrow and frustration. A heart that feels more than others. I believe you have just such a heart, Alfyn."

Stunned by her words, the apothecary's eyes watered, and his cheeks turned red. "I… I don't know if I do."

Breaking from his hold, Ophilia held Alfyn in place, staring him down with kind eyes and her small, comforting smile. "Believe in me, then. Because I believe you do."

Thoughts still swirled in his head about his true feelings on the concept of life and death, and who had control over both. He felt as if he would never be entirely sure what the answers to those many questions could be, or if he truly had a good heart. But when he was with Ophilia, then he could at least believe that she believed he did.

His trademark smile returned full force as Alfyn wiped away his tears, trying to hide his emotional response. "I think I can do that. Thanks, Philia. Ya really know how to cheer a guy up."

"You are welcome, Alfyn. If you ever need an ear to listen, please do not hesitate to come to me," the cleric replied happily. "Let's go catch up with the others."

"Let's."

The pair continued their trek back to Quarrycrest, not noticing the huntress and merchant that were waiting for them behind a boulder, or that they had heard their entire conversation.

"'Tis a courageous thing Ophilia hath done. A strong woman, indeed," H'aanit commented as she began leading Linde and Tressa away from the scene before they were caught.

"Aw, it's just like a fairytale. Wonder if I could sell it as a play or something," Tressa muttered as she joined her master.

The huntress chuckled. Feeling like Tressa deserved a taste of her own medicine, she jested, "What of thou and that boy, Ali, hm? A ballad of love and hate that wouldst maken a crowd swoonen."

Red instantly covered Tressa's face, causing her to bring her cap down to hide it. "I-it's not like that, H'aanit!"

* * *

Back at the inn, the women of the Octopath Travelers sat around the fireplace, basking in its warmth. Enjoying a night away from the tavern, they shared tales that were not suited for the men who were almost always in their company.

"…and so, she walked on stage. Immediately, her entire outfit slipped off her in front of the entire audience!"

Tressa snorted, trying to hide her laughter after taking a large gulp of spiked eggnog. She failed, spraying the liquid through her nose. If the others weren't laughing then, they all were now. Even Ophilia, who tried to hide her laughter behind her hand could not suppress it.

"Oh, no, let me…let me…" she sputtered in between laughs, trying to stand so she could retrieve a towel for the guffawing merchant. "Let me get you something to help clean up."

Wobbling, the cleric was able to finally get to her feet and locate a towelette to use. Swaying uncertainly towards her friend, Ophilia made it and helped Tressa clean up her mess.

"Th-thanks, Ophilia! You're great," Tressa commented, still laughing raucously.

Chuckling to herself, H'aanit commented, "'Tis a shame none of the men weren here. Wouldst hath made for quite the display."

"I have told that story often, and never have I received such a response. I will have to remember to have my listeners drinking next time," Primrose commented before she took a sip of her beverage.

"Please do! I wanna see it next time!" Tressa agreed excitedly after they had finished cleaning up her mess. "Remind me not to borrow one of your dancing outfits Prim, they'd probably just slide off me, too."

"Now, mayhaps, but you still have plenty of growing, my dear merchant. You may surpass even me, someday."

Staring down at her chest, the young merchant hovered her fingers over her breasts before moving her hands out to the size of the dancer's. Tressa was sent into another fit of giggles as she fell into her tipsy persona.

"Yay! Someday, ladies. Watch out, cause I'm coming for ya!"

Tressa stood up from her chair excitedly, raising her glass in the air before taking a large gulp of eggnog and collapsing back into her seat with a hiccup.

Turning her attention to H'aanit with a feline smirk, Primrose stated, "I would not challenge H'aanit to such a duel. She is quite well-endowed."

Shrugging, the huntress sipped her drink. "Hath a man tolden me as such, he wouldst be on the floor. But from thou, Primrose, it ist a compliment. I thanken thee."

"Of course, my dear. We ladies must stick together in this world ran by greedy men, no? First and foremost is recognizing our value in _every_ way possible. Would you not agree, Ophilia?"

Everyone turned to the cleric to find that she had brought her knees to her chest, hoping to hide her body, as well as her heavily blushing face. "Could we move on to another topic, please?"

Primrose's giggle came out like a pleased purr. She teased, "Ophilia I do believe you are only second to H'aanit, what are you embarrassed about?"

A squeal of embarrassment was her only response as her blush deepened and she hugged her knees tighter to her chest.

Everyone laughed at the reaction before the dancer assured, "Be proud of yourself Ophilia, in every way. After all, how will you court your apothecary if you aren't confident?"

"I-it's not that, it's just…" Ophilia paused, a realization hitting her almost immediately after she spoke. Peeking at her friends' faces, it seemed they had come to the same realization she did. Panicking, the cleric released her knees and waved her hands frantically. "I-I mean, it's not like that! Wait, no… it's just that Alfyn and I… we… I… oh, dear…"

Though amused by the cleric's reaction, H'aanit was afraid her blush would burn down the inn. Hoping to calm her down, the huntress comforted, "'Tis alright, Ophilia. Alfyn ist a fine man for thou's first blush. Honorable, kind, strong, all the attributes of a fine mate."

Hearing this calmed the cleric down a little as she wistfully remembered her conversation with the blond man from earlier in the day. She smiled at the thought.

"Perhaps you are right."

"Oh, we definitely are, ain't that right, H'aanit?" Tressa jumped in.

She nodded in response.

"Well, while we're on the topic," Primrose continued, finishing her drink. "H'aanit, how are you and your knight-in-shining-armor?"

Undeterred by the dancer's insinuation, the huntress turned to her with only the faintest of blushes coloring her cheeks. "If thou meanst Sir Olberic, we art becoming steadfast comrades."

"And more, if I were to say as much."

Thinking on her words carefully as she stared into her drink, H'aanit remained silent. Eventually, she settled on, "Mayhaps."

"Oh, most definitely! Come on, you and Sir Olberic are like the mom and dad of our little group," Tressa chimed in, calling out H'aanit. "You help me when I need advice, you teach us different things, and you stop Primrose and Therion when they're squabbling too much!"

"If thou sayest so."

While H'aanit tried to deter the conversation from progressing any further, she did feel a faint warmth from being compared to a mother alongside Olberic. At the same time, it would also insinuate that they were more than comrades, or friends for that matter.

"Thou sayest so! Anyway, enough of that talk. Are those new dancing slippers, Primrose?"

Like a lightning bolt, the energetic Tressa changed the subject to the new, seemingly expensive shoes the dancer now wore. Subconsciously, Primrose tucked her feet under her legs, hiding the article of clothing from view. Immediately, she regretted that action. Everyone saw how she reacted, so they _knew_ the dancer was trying to hide something. This time, Ophilia, who was usually the victim, took this as an opportunity to take her revenge.

"They do look new, Tressa. If I did not know any better, I would also say Primrose is trying to hide something from us."

The dancer's face lit up a bit, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

"And her face is turning red. I think you're right, Ophilia," Tressa agreed. "So, where did you get those dancing slippers, Primrose? If I'm right, they don't look cheap. Did you dip into our savings, or…?"

A light suddenly flickered to life in Tressa's head, clearing the alcohol-induced fog that clouded her brain. She knew how Primrose got a hold of those shoes. Judging by the how the dancer hid behind her waves of brunette locks in response to how the merchant's gaze narrowed in amusement at her, it seemed that Tressa was correct.

Snickering, she answered her own question smoothly. "You were with Therion today, right?"

A small crack in the dancer's demeanor – thanks to the strength of her drink – told the rest of the women all they needed to know.

"…yes," Primrose replied in an uncharacteristically meek voice.

"Ah, and he has some sticky fingers, right? Stickier than molasses, methinks," the merchant continued.

"Mayhaps…"

"And your previous slippers were a bit on the dingy side."

This time Primrose stayed silent, only coaxing Tressa to confidently continue her interrogation.

"Those sure do look like they were bought today, too. Did Therion happen to, oh, I don't know, swipe those from some unsuspecting merchant?"

Silence for a few moments.

Primrose stared at her drink, mumbling, "Damn eggnog."

Once again, the women were sent into a laughing fit, much to Primrose's pouting face. Tressa was right on the mark. The dancer found it unfair. Usually _she_ was the one to probe into the group's romantic life, not the other way around. Now, unprepared for the merchant's investigation, the tables were turned on her.

Calming down, Tressa wiped imaginary tears away from her eyes. "Oh, I knew it! Gotta hear you say it, though. Come on, Primrose, we've all said our fair share."

The dancer, usually used to people watching her, was suddenly thrust into the spotlight. Sighing, she decided to go along with their little game. After all, it was only fair.

"Well, I…"

Before she could acknowledge her friends' assumptions, the door to the inn burst open.

Everyone turned towards the sound, seeing a familiar group of men now standing in the doorway. Three of them carried the towering fourth, who appeared as if he was overly intoxicated. Having been caught and seeing all their female companions' eyes on them, Therion cursed at their luck.

"Shit…" the thief mumbled loud enough for everyone to hear.

The single word sent the women in the room into another fit of raucous laughter. Lucky for them, no one else was sharing the inn with them that night. Even so, neighbors swore they could have heard the muffled laughter of women sneaking its way through their walls. Yet if they had enjoyed their drink just as the Octopath Travelers had, then they would be joining in with hoots and hollers of their own.

* * *

 _ **Ah, what comes into the light when exposed in a group who has partook in too much drink.**_

 _ **The truth always works its way into the world in ways that are unconventional, in this case, secrets are spilled with but a few sips of spiked eggnog.**_

 _ **Trust.**_

 _ **A word that means so much to so many, yet so little to others; here, the women of the Octopath Travelers have formed such a bond of secrets, silently swearing they would never be told to their male counterparts.**_

 _ **Until the time is right, that is…**_


End file.
